i rushed out for the wawa a bit before nine,
the thought of apple crisp sans ice cream frightening enough to force me from a nest of rest.

it’s taken some time for me to warm to the wawa’s ways.
they take their coffee-topia seriously, and hoagies: a sacred science.
pennsylvania schools must teach wawa-lore in all state history texts,
for locals wait with drooling impatience for the annual hoagie-fest.

alas, i am wooed.

a mere minute from our block, and miles closer than the nearest grocery,
the wawa at broad & stefko is a haven of impulse buys and late night necessities,
the a & p to our christmas city,
my sweets’ saving grace.

a pint of vanilla and a few bananas in tow, not for splits, but for balance,
and i’m out the automatic door.

from the fluorescent to the full moon,
through the night to the maple street left.
there’s never a soul at the corner’s state farm,
yet its sign lights the pot holes in my final home turn.

pumpkins i didn’t carve grin giddily from our stoop,
and i’m overcome with the just-now-ness of the night.
the last day of my life when these steps, this town, these neighbors,
this ice cream, that wawa,
will be just right,
just ours,
just enough.

****

the linked-post in that last bit is all magic and poetry. read amber’s last day and tell me you won’t have four boys and happy tears by new year’s.