The Islets of Langerhans by Max Krockmalnik Grabois

Tim says he’s a leg man. He likes them long, like on the pin-ups Vargas did for Esquire during WWII. Gilbert proclaims he’s a tit man. He doesn’t have to mention it. He spent too much time in our high school shack jacking off to old copies of Playboy. As for me—it’s Della’s pancreas that slays me. It’s the geode blue cells of her Islets of Langerhans, only 2% of pancreatic mass, but there’s millions of them, an endocrinologist’s dream, that make her glow with good digestion.
When we dine at UberSausage, there’s no question she’ll get through three or four, starting with Cajun Pork and Crawfish, followed by a Wisconsin Brat, then a Spicy Southwest Buffalo, with beer brewed as micro-scopically as the cells of those wonderful Islets, the Islets of Langerhans, blue and spacious and as full of music as the Isle of Skye.
Della’s a sixth of a ton of fun and, with no help, can lift the engine out of my ‘55 Chevy pickup. She ain’t fluffy, as she’ll tell you herself. Born of nine mothers, all of them mechanics, she toils in grease and oil. Like Thor, she wields hammer and wrench with divine authority, and punches no time clock, serves no master, works outside of Time, works up an appetite.
So, honeypie, I’ve ordered you another Chili Lemongrass Pork Sausage and a couple pounds of slaw. I love you and will love you forever, and we will walk on the bluffs overlooking the sparkly sea, and yell greetings to the sojourners on the Islets of Langerhans.

Max Krockmalnik Grabois’ poems and fictions have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He is a regular contributor to The Prague Revue, and has been thrice nominated for the Pushcart Prize. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for 99 cents from Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition.