Eating A Blueberry Muffin During A Dictatorship
A Poem by Glenn Moss
Wash my face and take a slow breath
Better to exhale and practice my smile in the bathroom
Opening the door is just another decision
The street is quiet
There are traffic and people; both seemed wrapped in plastic or fear
Doesn’t really matter
I don’t look at the National Guardsman
Probably from Utica or Syracuse
I think he’s the guy I heard last week muttering
“So many fucking Jews”
But my head is down, my stomach is grumbling
All I want is a blueberry muffin
The Dunkin’ Donuts at the corner is the only place allowed open
I get just the muffin; no coffee
Blood pressure is up, always up
Walking back, I try and remember before
But I stop myself just in time
I see the Guardsman looking at me
Back inside, I have my blueberry muffin
I just chew for a while
Bio: I am a media lawyer and have been writing poetry and stories since high school. At college, I wrote a play for a course in Jacobean Literature, and at Law School, I wrote a play for a course in Jurisprudence. Returning to NYC, I write poetry and stories amidst contracts and business plans. Each area of writing enriches the other, with contracts benefiting from a bit of poetic dance. I have had poems and stories published in Ithaca Lit, West Trade Review, Oddville Press, Oberon, Foliate Oak Magazine, Illuminations, Qu, 34th Parallel, Harbinger Asylum, Trolley Journal, Narrative Northeast and October Hill Magazine.
