What madness modernism has brought to the grocery store
thoughts
of genetic integrity—fish genes in the tomatoes—pesticides in soybeans
Walt
Whitman's  skin  crawls  when  told  the  story.
Images of farmworkers     young & cancerous   & drunks
crashing their trucks against shopping carts  in  the  parking  lot.
My patience thin looking for the green Excedrin
headache medicine bottle   the near full
moon      an inconvenience to the
fatigued frozen dinner consumer.
Air not yet for sale but we'll be
conditioned to purchase it  - or suffer—as
dreams
of asphyxia, of blue throats on slow burn, outlive
peaches hard as baseballs while
husbands contemplate the lovelies on the cover of Cosmopolitan
& the
neon sign saying Open 24 Hours illuminates the crooked
wheels of the  lost  shopping  cart.

Lorca searches for paella ingredients
poking the chicken
the free-range I tell him alcance libre the
absurd
pudding might also be a floor wax.
My
angel reminds me to avoid black tea, bagels
& most condiments.
The Type O diet, no corn, avoid most nuts, lox & catfish.
Lonely is the silent  bag lady who spoken once to Alice.   Kuma waits by
automatic doors which stay open as he blocks path of new shoppers.
Phosphorescence of the   frozen  French  Bread  pizza  is muted by fluorescent light.

We make shopping an adventure
point @ the drunken escapades of Chelsea Clinton
in a British pub as pictured on tabloids
the lady before us    NOW   fills out her check for 20 items in the
supermarket line designated for 15 or less
& the
feel of
the
bananas   is hard, bred for shipping. Lorca laughs, Walt's amazed @
the fact that someone crossed broccoli & cauliflower   & @ the
price of eggs.  It's a picture
of a grinning dog on a birthday card, a
lonely woman passes by condoms in the feminine hygiene section
lost in the hustle of progress is an
America that made deceit part of the process right about 1948.

The wives pull SUV's into
driveways where good sons help unload & raid the Doritos.

The fish never saw real food, just pellets deployed by machines. The
spice
racks  fascinate Lorca who puts a jar of curry in his pocket
& Walt is still eyeing
the bagboy @ the
checkout counter   & he eyes back & flirts   only to humor the graybeard poet.

Dear
Father, the Guinness was on sale
Walt stole the popcorn & his questioning the logic of microwaves
smoking the first package into a black mess after 12 minutes.

Watching
the procession, forgetting the
black beans, but not the bottled
water from the civic supply in Cincinnati
& not knowing who was
killing the chicken. In fact
nobody here even wants to know.