Grocery Store

There, I saw the fright of a little girl
In red and white,
This crooked wince,
Her reeling little shape
Pivoting behind her mother,
Happy because she had just
Killed something from the freezer
Section, long stowed in that glassy indigo
Emptiness; her face, a final sunrise,
Had swilled gut-red,
What was frozen
With her miniature array of stained utensils.
Caked in sunrise gore,
Cheeks burnt
With the vapor murk of
Berserk consumption,
She swung her head
And with profligate leer
Of a force atmospheric,
She held tight my balance,
Being dragged away,
Her head funneled by shoulders,
At-large amid a clanky
Shopping-cart requiem.

About the author

I write fiction, non-fiction and poetry. My interests are wide-ranging, though I explicitly incline toward ideas of food, literature, aesthetics, politics and occidental philosophy.