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