Monday, September 19, 2011

Family Business

Our father's first franchise
featured a small menu, from one
to two to three items total, that
failed to leave too bad
a taste in his mouth.

So upon the next,
he dropped item one, the one
he conveniently could, and added
one, then two, then three more.
Similar to the first, the initial
item here soured

And on his third attempt,
he refused expansion
beyond an item at a time,
as the ancillary fees piled up.
Four staple items,
whether he liked them or not,
and one new,
until it would spoil.

This trend continued
with the failed fourth.

That led to the fifth—
an outlying merger
that still lasts.

That's our father's business—
always five items in,
but only the most recent item
to particularly care for.

1 comments:

Chris Andrews said...

This is brilliant. I particularly like the alliteration at the beginning, and knowing a little of the backstory the poem is clever and pretty seamless. I also like the idea of the ancillary fees and holy shit when read in the context of marriage and divorce and choldren it's pretty depressing, but so stealthy at the same time. I feel as if you've been on another level these days. Freakin master poet over here.