Overhead lights
buzz like
big fluorescent
honey bees.
Two fat women
with cheeks like tomatoes
slug through
the bright aisles
in baggy black
sweatshirts
and
camouflage
pajama pants.
They reek
of weed and
hard-to-reach
dirty places.
I pass them in aisle nine.
Their cart bursts
with hot dogs,
potato chips,
easy-cheese,
Mountain Dew,
Oreos
and Pop-Tarts.
One tosses a jar
of beef gravy
to the other.
I hear it break,
pick up my pace
and glide
to the Liquor Cubby.
Paige,
the tall, pasty
sales associate
with jet black
hair,
glossy pink
fingernails,
holes
in the knees
of his blue
jeans,
and tiny rainbow tattoos
on each side of his neck,
shoves
a squeaky-wheeled
mop bucket
down the middle
of LakeShore Foods.
He whistles the theme
from The Wizard of Oz,
winks at me
and nods.
I hold my Sobieski
like a baby and
wait
in checkout five,
behind
a tiny,
wrinkly woman.
She has grapes,
buttermilk,
York Peppermint Patties,
and cottage cheese.
She farts
and laughs,
asks
for paper bags,
for today’s date,
a pen,
then writes a check.
Thin, veiny fingers,
and bony wrist
shaking
with purpose,
making
all of this
last.
~ KJ
