Never, not once. 
Let Michael carry that bag. 
You can have this one, 
with the bread and flour,
she said, quick glance 
at my clumsy hands. 

Well, Mrs. G, my wife 
lets me carry them all 
the time, well, sometimes, 
and I haven’t broken one yet, 

though I did once drop 
a bottle of vodka,
which smashed 
on the garage floor 
in a shower of glass 
and booze.
I punched a hole 
in the kitchen wall. 

My artist friend fixed it 
with some kind 
of plaster and mesh. 
He painted it good as new. 
My wife said to me 
you need a lot of looking after. 
Yeah, I guess I’m lucky that way.
                        

Here at the supermarket, the apples 
go on forever. We were lucky to be born 

where the honey never quits, 
where nobody needs to eat wood 

or worms. My basket rolls with ease 
down these wide aisles. I could have 

been born in a cave somewhere, 
or been dashed against a wall. 

The checkout lady asks if I want 
to redeem my points, but I say no, 

I’ll let them ride for when the season 
turns toward Paczki and the fruits of spring.