The Sandwich Girl

They’ve lowered the shelves of the counter

so she can get to the tuna salad

and sliced turkey sitting down

because of her surgery while her leg heals

and she can’t go to school,

enrolled instead on the Internet

in homeschool online and learning

alone without ever meeting her teachers.

Next year she will take American lit

and see her doctor and read Walt Whitman

and look at the computer screen

that asks her what she knows

about how much more time her leg needs

while some customers want mayo

on their corned beef sandwich or deluxe

with horseradish on rye or whole wheat,

sour dough, optional tomato and red onion

until it’s too thick for that first bite

and she has to study algebra for tomorrow.

Modern Doe

Askew on the berm,

the doe lies with legs scattered

like those of a 1952 t.v. table

after some child clipped its corner

running through the living room

during Amateur Hour.

All these years later

t.v. tables are obsolete

while America counts millions

more of us and thousands more deer.

We collide, and this one dances

crookedly on the sky.