It’s all routine
An onward march
Huddled and shivering
Frozen produce
Frost-bitten hands
Groping for reality
A soundtrack
To a blood-sport
Open mouths ravage
Mothers want to kill
The stock boy has dirty hands
The stock boy has dirty thoughts
Embarrassed and quivering
Presented before a jury box
“Return one item ma’m …”
“You’re two dollars short,”
An unending soundtrack
To a blood-sport
Mother
She talks to herself in the bathroom
Grocery store music
Playing in her head
Grocery store music
Brings the tugging at apron-strings
Choking the lie of freedom
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ROCKS!
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