saturday morning at wal*mart
razor blades and toothbrush
unscented hand lotion and 1.75 cheaters
birdseed and potting soil and charcoal briquettes
checking the price on old-fashioned weber grill
looking down at the list I walk mechanically
10w40 motor oil
maybe a fishing lure or two
floor mats for the mazda
safety glasses and fluorescent vest
I find myself singing to the music piped in
or is it just my imagination
pretending I don’t see zombies
walking by with their carts and belly buttons
exposed tattoos and piercings and odor
reminding me not to forget to pick up
a few bars of soap
retrograding back to where I left off
I peruse bicycles suspended magically
promising someone special one day
this one will be hers
shoes and sandals and wranglers
fruit of the loom and hawaiian shirts
all marked down for people just like me
asking myself how I’m gonna pay for
all of this
I smile broadly and quietly whistle
pushing my cart purposely
up and down the grocery aisles
june two thousand eighteen
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