Blue Helium Sky

Shopping with a Hangover

Walking sleep deprived
to the neighborhood Safeway,
I need something cool on my head
like the thin, gray clouds
silvering the sun overhead.
In the store, it is too loud
as I grab a cart with wheels
that squeak painfully and cry out
like descending gulls
headed for the dumpster in back of Ivar’s
to scavenge the Thursday night special.
The automatic sprinkler roars
like an approaching thunderstorm
in the produce section,
as it rinses dirt from leafy, green forms.

So take that shopping cart
and just move it over;
can’t you see
I’m shopping with a hangover.

In tha Arctic regions
behind the closed glass doors
that line the frozen food aisles,
there are many choices
that seem to stretch away for miles.
In my head, there are voices
Wondering why I can find
ice cream with mashed in cookies
but there’s not a sign
of a peanut-butter/banana flavor
to bring a tabloid Elvis to mind.
At last, the cash register
counts my items like the crackle
of distant Uzi fire
and I’m free but my brain feels like Spackle.

So take that shopping cart
and just move it over;
can’t you see
I’m shopping with a hangover.

2003



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