Wolfpack Press

Blueberry Pie

Marium Atia

Melanie Dromboski

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We eat from the revolving pie display case

 

Under the flickering neon sign Open 24 Hours

Watching the lonely salad bar, croutons, carrots, and cucumbers sit idle in their iced boxes.

So I race to stack strawberry, grape, and cherry Smuckers jam packets into pyramids

And argue over the last piece of homemade double chocolate cake, warmed in the microwave.

 

A corner diner is convenient for the child of a tired parent

Content to get her local news from the corner tiny TV

And its “Can I get you the usual?” and “You want fries with that?”

Even though I eat too much and steal peppermints from the cash register

 

But at the end of the day we bicker and reminisce over blueberry pie in a torn, vinyl booth.

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Blueberry Pie