I was wandering the aisles,
doing my usual shopping,
trying to figure out what I needed at home,
when a lady at a little stand
at the end of an aisle
stopped me and my cart and said,
“Would you like a taste?
The best honey in the world.
Organic and pure… I make it myself.”
Now, the last thing I wanted
to taste at the moment was honey.
Don’t ask me why, but, no,
I didn’t want a spot of honey on my tongue.
But still she insisted. Her accented guttural voice –
Hungarian perhaps, as the honey was from Hungary –
was rat-a-tat-tat insistent and commanding and
wouldn’t let me leave easily.
No, I said, no, thank you, over and over again.
“Please, dear, try this honey. You’ll never
want any other again. Please, honey…”
Finally, she nearly flung her honey postcard at me,
so I grabbed it and fled down the aisle.