Andrew Wittstadt

Mr. Mayor Offers to Splurge on Whatever You Desire: Sale Items Only
by Andrew Wittstadt

Two heartbreaks ago you said,
“no trash heaps, no more”
but the shopping mall’s much better
in the afternoons when everyone else
is working, shoveling organs
from the left pile to the right.
“All’s fair sale,” said Mr. Mayor.
The dogs followed behind
close enough to trip on his trousers.
“Sale today,” he said. “Buying today,” said the dogs.
“I’m here to buy a new heartbreak,” you said.
“Why didn’t you say so?” asked Mr. Mayor.
The dogs howled, “3.99, 3.99,” and ran to the fountain
centered in the tile mosaic floor and drank from it.
Mr. Mayor sat on the fountains edge and rolled up his sleeve
before plunging arm-length to the blue bottom tiles.
He grabbed control of your hand
and placed the wet change in palm.
“That should be enough,” he said,
and pointed to the store adjacent.
The neon heartbreak store displayed a large sign,
3.99 unlimited refills.

Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 4.

Andrew WittstadtAndrew Wittstadt is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at McNeese State University in Lake Charles, Louisiana where he serves as poetry editor for The McNeese Review. His work has appeared in The New Limestone Review and Foothill: A Journal of Poetry, among others.


See all items about Andrew Wittstadt

Visit Andrew Wittstadt’s contributors page.

Leave a Reply