Asked to Leave for Staring at the Wrapping Paper Too Long

You are told to perfect the outside because 

that's where it starts like a fresh layer of dirt, 

fertile to sing morning's glisten 

so something profound sprouts.

It's the grabber--you must

or your gift is useless, 

vague,

misleading

or worse: "Okay Mike, sure, sure--";

they sound like an empty mailbox.

Fine--just drink up, hello to friends,

breathe tobacco, moon watch

leave the party early

and keep sending those e-mails.

It's pathetic to stay in a gift store too long.

You hold that tiny glass bauble in your hand

wonder how to wrap and forget 

that the truth is right there.

Pace the aisles, sweat but put it back

grab it again! No...

back on the shelf--they might not like it.

You finger the premium soils for hours.

Eventually, the clerk comes over, gently

touches your shoulder--he has to lock the door soon.

"Tomorrow? No, sir, we're closed on Sundays."