This piece is an embellished account of a Girl Scout cookie sales planning meeting. Enough said.
This poem is only published here.
D-Day, Girl Scout Cookies
The grownups argue over who's gonna win
the Walmart location. Cookie Manager shouts the start date.
You go one minute too soon and she'll shut down your little
shortbread-hawking darlings. A troop leader whispers to me
what happened the time Manager caught
a group doing early Caramel deLite trade.
But my attention pivots to the word roaches.
We're told not to store cookies in the garage
where they crawl from the Peanut Butter Patties,
where Thin Mints take on the odor of exhaust.
"Lock up those boxes, ladies!"