I trudge over to Safeway,
locate Richie in the back, sweeping.
He smiles when he sees me,
but then, he probably guesses why I’m here,
decides to educate me.
He saunters over to the produce.
“You never want to buy lettuce
that has any brown leaves,”
he says.
“And you want to see what’s on special.
Carrots get moldy.
You have to really pay attention
in case they’re old.
Always touch red peppers;
they should be hard, not soft.”
“Stop! Just stop, Professor Greengrocer!
Why are you writing sad,
scary notes about funerals,
and why to me, Richie?”
“You finally read that?
It’s James Joyce!” he says,
heading back into the storage room.
“I thought it was a funny line.”
I’m following him. “Funny?”
“Or at least droll?”
“Nothing about death is funny, Richie!
Or droll.
And certainly not one line, out of context.
Now if you want to slip on a banana peel,
that would be funny.”
“Really? You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
So then he does.
He takes a banana, peels it,
throws the skin down, runs up to it,
and does a pratfall.
From the floor,
he looks up at me hopefully.
“You’re crazy, Richie O’Neill!” I laugh.
He smiles wide, so satisfied.
“Okay, you got me!”