A&F Poetry Collections: ‘aisle browsing at price chopper’
i push my squeaky wheeled
cart through lanes of traffic;
crumpled bags of tortilla chips
wave at me, as my untied shoelace
is noticed by a mother of two,
grabbing peaches and plums.
i’m tethered to plastic celery
raised by foreigners – ripped
from forgotten habitats of humanity.
preteens packaged and processed
to be adopted into broken homes
serving pits of french cuisine and gluttony.
twenty-three dozen eggs; freezing
in cages, these frustrated little chicks,
cruelty and cage free, advertised
like an unpaid internship. they’re surrounded
by milks made from rusted nuts
that demand water like they’ve been burned.
why did i wear short-sleeves, bare legs,
goosebumps forming, a window breeze
after a thirsty shower. walking through
frozen alleys; filled with ceaseless alternatives
for tireless bread makers and FDA certified
popsicles made from cigarettes.
i’m strolling by pounds of little debbies
that moisten my tongue, like the
extra butter i was taught to order
while at the cinema. snack, crackle,
and pop draw me into conversation,
advertising sugar free addiction.
macaroni products – that have neither
cheese or noodles – tease me with
side eyed winks and nutritional labels,
situated next to the international sauces
shipped from the California coast, and
made with midwestern molasses.
i watch the butcher and baker,
behind foggy glass caskets, wearing
open toed shoes and saggy gloves,
attempting to sell pork shoulders
that have never smelled fresh air
and cakes iced with clotted cream.
i tap my platinum credit card
of sopping wet privilege, to an
eyeless machine, that always asks
for donations to a CEO’s paycheck,
(naturally i click yes), just as i look
up at the blinding LED’s gleam.