Deli Wars

Rich’s Dockside Deli was the mortal enemy of
Chuck’s Dog House.
Man fought man
Over territorial rights and
The title of “King Deli Guy.”

Foot longs battled with
Bite-Your-Butt barbeque sandwiches
And Better-Than-Sex Chocolate Cake,
That played close to its name
(But not quite).

Smells of bratwurst and broiled chicken
Luffed down Franklin Avenue and 7th Street
As Rich supplied the nearby boating crowd
With lunch multiple days of the week,
And the counter was mobbed for the afternoon’s two meals.

Chuck catered to the younger customers;
It was normal to see twenty teens
Chomping on salt-riddled, cheese-slobbered,
Oily, delicious French fries, and slurping
Thick chocolate shakes shortly after school gave out.

Chuck’s son Tony and I had grown up together,
Gone to church together, ate together,
But when summer came, Rich gave me a job.
I chopped many pickle slices thin and weighed meat cut fresh
For countless hours in the hot, cooking kitchen.

I felt like a traitor to go to Chuck’s –
My dishpan hands belonged to the
Greasy pork pans stacked a meter high in
Rich’s back room
(I was the fastest dishwasher in town) –

But Chuck’s red-hots were unbeatable.
A coke and a dog made the day’s
Problems melt away on top
Of the piebald tiles and red,
Spinning seat cushions.


-kmt
©2008