(Originally a prose CNF, freshly versified in response to The Bunny’s request to “Turn And Face The Strange…”)
Pizza Shop Time Machine
He orders up a couple of slices from
under the heat lamps, tells the guy
not to bother with the oven, says
he often feasts on room-temp pizza,
prefers it that way anyway.
He grabs a sunlit window seat
under the hypnotic overhead fan.
There’s an oversized photo poster
of a 1950s beachfront pizza joint
and he wills himself into the picture,
imagines walking down the boardwalk,
munching a fifteen-cent pepperoni special,
maybe a nickel for some extra cheese,
all the bathing beauties catching his eye,
and the smell of Coppertone everywhere.
It’s hard for him to fully let go, though;
hard to adjust to everything around him
not being black and white like the poster.
Two women, long-legged and sandaled
—a redhead and a blonde-streaked brunette—
wander in, order up some fries and Cokes,
park themselves in a booth under the poster
and give him a side-eye every few seconds,
hoping that they’ve captured his attention.
In mere seconds, their booth has transformed,
almost fully vanished, floated up into the poster,
melted into the black and white beachlight,
their Cokes and fries suddenly timeless,
their furtive glances flashing out at him,
still perfect, now frozen.
Catching sight of
his reflection in the chrome napkin dispenser,
he smiles, noting that it, too, is two-toned only,
all last hints of color fading.
Miz Quickly’s 1/10 Monday
~ ch-ch-ch-changes ~