Ode to the Supermarket

I used to sell newspaper subscriptions in major retail supermarkets in Colorado. I had to stand behind a little kiosk right in the middle of where everyone needed to walk. I don't think I made very much money but I certainly had plenty of time to write all day.

I've lived my life in the aisles at the supermarket,

walking the linoleum and watching the prices.

For years I've slept soundly under fluorescent lights

and found endless fascination with coin return devices.

I've taken bites out of the conveyor belt at the register

and left feces at the base of the cigarette case.

The floor displays scare me in the dead of night

along with the ground meat mirrors when I catch a glimpse of my face.

I ride the child's train when I can spare a quarter.

I get high on the fragrances in the floral section.

Holiday specials make me vomit.

The smell of the bakery gives me an erection.

When the customers arrive in the day

I follow them and nip at their heels.

By the time they leave with their groceries

they find sadly that I've slashed their wheels.

I've read thousands of labels and ingredients

while doing thousands of laps in the buggies.

I personally own a discount savings card

and have gently impregnated a monkey.

I've cried crocodile tears on the bread aisle

and found peace with myself in the deli.

I've read most every magazine in the store

stuffing each one deep down in my belly.

I've fallen in love with this box shopping place

and can't say that I'll deign ever to leave.

I've licked these floors from corner to corner.

The supermarket is my lifelong dream.

3.27.05