Bloom's Dairy

Leotard Bloom stood at the foot of the stairwell and intoned: e pluribus malediction, in his pocket a bar of lemony-scented soap, what’shername’s name scribbled on the postage-window. It’s Blum’s Dray he said, liveries and cattlecarts and oxen on the hoof, poor Paddy in Cossacks’ do up and hemp soled sandals. When I was a boy my father bought fishing worms from the man who owned Crèmes’ gas station. They came in a Bloom’s Dairy Styrofoam container and smelled like mulch and leaf-rot. Today is Blooms Day, the day that my father bought me worms. I hated fishing, but liked the Styrofoam container the worms came in. Happy Blooms Day, and may the fish be biting.