Five gallon buckets, white, vacuum packed. Three of them
skulking in the back bedroom. Mom and Michael
Y2k worried, dropped off emergency supplies.
Snickering everytime they fell under view, friends poking and proding them during visits. Few days post anticlimax, time to open and see
treats inside. Must have assumed there was a
hacksaw just laying around the house, the only thing
capable of opening them it turned out.
Diligently sawing clamps around the rim,
curly white sawdust falling, the last
bucket. Salt! Enough for an
army! Uh oh! Packaging mistake, placed at the top, partially hacksawed open salt
spills on table! Fixed, done
exploring,
repackaged for next doomsday. The
salt stays on the table, spread thin
flat, weeks pass. Drawing in it, edible
etch-a-sketch.
Line art coffee cups, pumpkins, animals.