I ventured into cupboard walls,
Musky, cracked and worn,
smelling of the past.
I came upon a window, shop keeper’s
wares, all bottles lined
behind his glass.
The names written on the bottles,
colors vivid and rare
Caught my feminine eye…
The one which read, ‘Scorned Woman’,
‘slap your mama’
Hot enough to make you cry.
I did not choose to take offense
And laughed with seasoned wit, as I
entered with a peppered smile
The old man behind the desk
looked quizzically and closely watched
me inspect his sauce for a while.
We exchanged words, he the wisdom
of the peppered sauce, as I read
drollness labels, all adorned.
He boxed my purchases, imparted
his wisdom, “tip is the hottest
of the pepper”, he said.
Forgetting the Woman’s Scorn.
© Summer CMM 2005