Old Days

Universally, it is human nature to divide

the greater wholes into bite-size units

that are friendlier, easier to swallow.

 

This is what we have done with years,

which we decided to divide into days,

shrink-wrapped for sale at the bakery.

 

The ones which do not sell are placed

on the dusty back shelf of the day-olds,

where they gather silently for some time

 

(because no one wants to toss them out

for good, and the local clientele would prefer

to pay the extra 55 cents for a fresh one,

 

the ones of a new flavor, which seem

to suggest a chance at success again, or

at the very least an escape from habit)

 

until eventually a stale new year has

accumulated, a year forgotten to you

and to the cashier who, on this bright

 

morning, celebrates her forty-first birthday.