Wedding Cake Farm
Uncle Astor had a wedding cake farm. Aunt Lula was against it at first. Folks don’t want a cake from out of the ground, she said. But Uncle Astor proved her wrong.
No, he said, folks like when it springs fully formed right out of the dirt. All fondant and buttercream. Leaves them time for flowers and photographers.
He just had to point her to the line all the way from the barn to the edge of the property. Bride after bride shaking dollars in their fists.
And happy they were when they left the barn with their arms full of perfectly-tiered cake mountains. Sugar flowers growing on top.
Aunt Lula came around to nodding her head. Good crop, she would say to Uncle Astor.
Till one day, she followed her gut to the highway, where smack in the middle she sees a brideless cake, cars and trucks veering around. She sees a line of tears that lead to Mitzi McCall sitting at the edge of a cool pine forest, herself pulled into a tiny ball.
Aunt Lula looks past Mitzi to discover a grove of wedding cakes like little sugar bushes.
“Who the hell wants a dirt cake,” Mitzi finally sniffs to Aunt Lula, who pulls up a bit, happy to be right, after all. “And no one warns you till too late,” Mitzi continues, “how your man will leave you just like that when he sees this is the kind of bad decision you are likely to keep on making.”
Francine Witte is the author of four poetry chapbooks and two flash fiction chapbooks. Her full-length poetry collection, Café Crazy, has recently been published by Kelsay Books. She is reviewer, blogger, and photographer. She is a former English teacher. She lives in NYC.