The Moon Rises at Noon

She had written 1986 on her check.
That was what he was insisting as if
she had needed to delay payment.
“Are you really Hattie McDaniel?”

“My mother gave me that name.” She
was now the one insisting. He said she
must come in today and make a cash
payment for $41.23.

“I will,” she said, thinking the car
needed gas. First, the cat needed
breakfast. Rude man. How much had
he said? $21.73? Well, she had that.

She would go to lunch and buy that
bright umbrella on sale at the store
on Vine Street. Or Pine Street. She
knew where. Having eaten, the cat

followed her into the bedroom. She
would come home with some yarn
to knit a winter hat. What a lovely
day to bake bread. In her slippers,

she walked to the kitchen to test
the yeast and gather the ingredients.
But first, the cat needed breakfast.