How Do You Tolerate A Balloon?
by Andrea Peck
"Not easily," you muse under your breathe.
Leaving the party supply store that
Smelled of floor cleaner and powdered latex,
You think about the pimple-faced employee
Who really doesn’t give a shit if your
80 year old grandma has a happy birthday or not.
"Of course," you think to yourself.
Al Roker must enjoy fucking with people,
Deciding today was the best day of the week to
Wind-whip the Northeast.
Gripping your makeshift parachutes, you soldier on,
Cursing grandma and Winnie the Pooh for good measure.
"I’m sorry, officer," you lie.
You had no idea that snaking through gridlocked traffic
Would only be made more difficult by the obstruction of the
Shiny, happy surfaces of the balloons in your rear-view.
You didn’t mean to hit that car as you merged off the ramp;
You just wanted to trade your new insurance information with someone else.
"Happy Birthday," you spit.
Grandma looks happy in her sequins and beads
Reflecting, like the balloons, when hit by the candle light.
As the cake is dished out, you dream your revenge;
When you clean up the dishes, you’ll take out a knife and
Pop those damn balloons so they’ll never shine again.
Andrea Peck is pursuing her undergraduate degree in English and Creative Writing at Utica College.
She makes cotton candy for a living and plans to become a librarian someday. This is her first publication outside of school.