Porcelain Poodles

A ripped copy of The Deerslayer and
Some sundry hand-crank coffee grinders
Were the only witnesses to my white lie.

It’s true, I don’t collect Goebel figurines
(Despite the porcelain poodle on the counter)
But such a purchase demands explanation.

In truth I sought a gag gift for my brother,
In false I was my crippled grandmother’s
Gofer, tracking down her beloved Goebels.

I slid the beveled buttocks of the Standard
Into my pocket with a wry smile that said,
“Oh yes, the 1941 trademark is so exciting!”

True, my story was pure embellishment,
But I will never see the brown-nosed
Cashier and her Goebel obsession again.

Likewise was the elderly banker who closed
My account.  I did not have the heart to tell
Her I was abandoning her bank for another.

Instead, I was getting married in Annapolis —
“No, no, ma’am, the Naval Chapel was booked” —
And moving from Ohio the very next week!

Sure, it is a crime to lie to an old woman, but
She should have never been working there, and
A young man’s romance was a shot in her arm.

There are some sins that do not lead to death,
And I think these blind embellishments are
Merely amplified conversational hit-and-runs.

The only collateral damage is dealt to the dull
Silences undressing between strangers, the
Glances at the ground, and the hum of heaters.

Originally written 10.07.10