Indifference is an American Quality

I stand in line outside the Aldi and

an old lady tells me that the 

meat factories will close this week, 

inciting a panic in the refrigerator aisle. 

I think about the last 

cow that will be slaughtered and the 

first who stands behind him,  

struck by dumb luck. 

On the walk back to my truck, a man

sells bottled spirits out of his trunk. I buy 

one handle in case 

the American continent dissolves into puddles. 

The liquor man motions me closer, opens his 

side door and reveals a trove 

of prime steak and toilet paper. 

I say, “To hell with you,” but he smirks: 

“O honey, we’re already on our way.” 

About the Author

Marilyn Sieger is a writer at Arcadia University.