submerged in the
human gridlock
of the grocery store
cursing my body
for needing food
to stay alive

a pudgy woman complains
that there are no price tags
corresponding to the bags
of frozen french fries

I make a friendly noise but
have nothing to say
I feel like I should give her
advice

“I can’t tell whether
it’s cheaper to buy
one big one or
two little ones”
she says wandering away
with neither

her cart is
professionally full &
I suddenly feel like an
inadequate shopper

a young poet with a
bottle of ½-proof tequila
and a single lime in a
fresh-fruit baggie
makes a mental note
of my appearance
as he strolls past

I’m going to be the
tattooed guy in aisle 5
in his next poem