Monday, September 3, 2012

errant

It’s all a blur. From the parking lot to the produce section, it is all odd forms and strange words. Bright colors from the cars to the beverage aisle, slivers of shine pinned to acres of dross. The found poetry of the cereal box, the practiced elegance of the butcher’s case. I move from aisle to aisle, section by section following my script. I pull each item from its place, leaving holes and gaps. There is nothing I want, and little I need. My cart still ends up full.

Look, I know my cup is overflowing. I haven’t been thirsty for years. And the people don’t mean to assail me-- they are ordinary everyday jerks like me, just going about their business. They only seem to think the world turns for them, blocking lanes and shouting dumb words into their smart phones. They only seem to believe they are immortal, crowding a character like me. I navigate through all the lapses and hesitations, calculating the least impediments and the least impeding possible, ignoring the blood bath in my head and ten thousand years of bad habits. I lean into the precipice where all the years of lucky breaks and good history ends, the world painted in such desperate hues. A shopping cart and a pocketful of greenback dollars aren’t enough to secure this purchase.

There are walls of wealth and providence. There are towers of sustenance, mountains made of loosed desire. There are hours burning in the open, sight leaving every eye alone. The list asks on and on, never ended, never emptied. The parking lot clangs with car doors and shopping carts, the tarmac scolded by a loud and caustic crow. The heat crowds the air away, every breath fast food thick and exhaust flavored. The lost cause and the emptied cart, I have nothing that I wanted and less I will ever need. I check each item, I look and look. The list will never end.

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