On the Day My Friend Gets Engaged at a Tae-Kwon-Do Tournament in Pittsburgh, I
Witness a Robbery at a Gas Station and Decide to Buy Pretzels Anyway.
He didn’t wear a ski mask,
didn’t carry a gun, just pleaded
desperately, quietly, eyes wet,
making it uncomfortable enough
for any stoned minimum-wage-earning
teenager to hand over $65 and some change
to this man who says he has to
feed his child.
And who am I, to check out anyway?
What are my faded, softened dollar bills,
the nakedness of my face in the monitor,
my unwillingness to disappoint the party
by showing up empty handed,
when I said I’d bring pretzels.
None of us tried hard enough—
people rarely do—
another lost tournament,
another failed engagement,
another tired face in court,
three more dollars spent on
Snyder’s Honey Mustard Pretzel Twists
for someone else.
Dani Fruehan is a fourth-year student at Penn State University Park enrolled in a five-year BA/MA program for creative writing. Through this program, she has studied under strong and established writers, who inspire her to always write her truth. She also works as a writing tutor and as a Workshop Coordinator for the Penn State Learning Writing Center. She loves to write poetry and has been published in previous editions of Klio/Kalliope.