Can’t be so,
fifteen again, 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,
laundry soap, cleanser, disinfectants,
abandonment, suspended time,
strong scent of chemicals in a row
Another aisle and the chatter of women with babies,
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
look up at me,
and damn them those eyes,
those Cherrios eyes