In the auto repair shop’s waiting room
a glut of clustered balloons,
force-fed multicolored grapes
so monstrously huge
no human mouth could fit one inside.
The wall-size TV shows a smiling woman
who won first prize
for raising mammoth pumpkins,
too massive for anyone
to scoop out their flesh for pies or
Jack-o’- lanterns. Does she know
they will explode in the sun
or implode to rotting hulks in a field?
I’m tempted to jab each balloon
with a hairpin, but the bursting sounds
and whoosh of exhalations
would only briefly relieve my impatience,
do nothing to quell my fury
about the enormous sedans
waiting to be serviced
ahead of my Honda Civic
so it’s nearly invisible
as a squash between mega-pumpkins.