11/365

(In the style of Gertrude Stein.)

For the block club Christmas brunch, I brought doughnuts. I bought a box of doughnuts from the Krispy Kreme from a woman that only had a couple of teeth. When I entered the rec center, I stood about, looking sheepish. A half-dozen of the neighborhood women brough food for brunch. I put a box of doughnuts next to lovingly prepared southern food.

The older black women chatted. The women talked about incivility and children. I felt like an interloper.

I am not one for normal conversation. I tried to find a topic of discussion for a crowd of women. Having no children and no wife, I have nothing to say to normal people. I lied when I said that I still kept up Irish traditions. I spoke to the gathering about Irish food, with its blood and grease that speaks to that cold, cold country.

I took a plate from the brunch home with me, for it would be incivil not to. There is a plate of dessicated food in my kitchen.