“Let me see your wiener,”
the girl at the counter said
and, because she was pretty,
I blushed.
“What?”
“I just want to make sure you’ve got what’s coming to you,” she said.

I began to suspect dream logic
or a hidden camera
or some ulterior motive,
like some hidden crippled kid
with medical expenses
but no.
She was genuine,
her request sincere.

She wanted to be sure
my hot dog had appropriate relish
which it did
though I wish she could have explained before I’d unzipped
in front of her boss
and a cop on the beat.

It was just one of those days.