It’s a December opening at the deliciously
new Krispy Kreme. Nearly six a.m. and we all are waiting
to snake through the gleaming doors.
Crowds forming, coughing and fuddled in the frosty morning,
fidgeting with winter coats and paper coupons,
stamping the cold and damp dreams of sleep off their feet.
Fuming cars, frosted and quickly scraped, lining up,
overflowing onto the yawning, silvery-gowned street.
A near-stampede of vehicles and pedestrians watching,
waking, and edging forward towards the decorated store –
all of us fretting over that fervent moment:
delicately fried, fabulously glazed, delightfully
sprinkled Krispy Kreme redemptions
delivered into our tingling fingers
But with so many arriving, how will we leave?
Brake lights flashing, dazed customers-to-be
dashing across the busy, bejeweled street.
Everyone salivating by the dozens, shivering
with bubbling anticipation, praying together on our knees –
yet only the first one hundred get redeemed for free!
What if an early-morning supplier doesn’t see –
the rising fervor and delivers his truckload of warm
bread and wooden mangers head-on into the chaotic scene?
It’s the season of Christmas and forgiveness,
but a vehicular-vision of a yuletide catastrophe –
bursts through our sweet, angelic dreams.
A pilgrim’s distraction reaching Bethlehem:
how many will be boxed, gift-wrapped,
buried beneath our holly trees?
All for want of sugary satisfaction,
a bite-size wreath of salvation,
in the early morning hours
at the deliciously new