Can’t be so:
inventory on night shift in a supermarket
where linoleum glows but does not click
in an empty aisle
of uncanny florescence
A wrong turn from canned vegetables
into boxes of facial tissue, paper towels,
aluminum foil, plastic wrap,
laundry soap, cleanser, funereal disinfectants,
abandonment, suspended time,
strong scent of chemicals in a row
Alone, fifteen again, stocking shelves
in this moment before afterlife
Another turn and the chatter of women with babies,
cans of chicken, tuna, juices, salad dressing,
old men with hearing aids saying “Howdy,”
to friends they haven’t seen in years
Sad, the faces of those whose only dirt
spills into throwaway diapers,
and damn them those eyes,
those Cherrios eyes