The Supermarket

POETRY

There’s no hiding in the supermarket;
Those goddamn fluorescent lights…
And I was only buying milk-
Such a simple errand.

Then I saw him. And
I knew he saw me.
(We are, after all,
in the business of seeing things.)

He, the novelist- every bit as
Failed as I, the poet.
(We are, after all,
in the business of failure.)

“I’m quitting the life,” he said,
Like a gangster who foolishly
Thinks he can leave the mob.
“I can’t take it anymore.”

“I create these people and
Can’t work up a damn bit of
Sympathy for any of them…
Now I know why God is so angry.”

“Yep,” I replied,
Staring at the linoleum floor --
Tile as dull and ancient
As his eyes.

“Can you believe,” I said,
“These bastards charge
Three dollars for a gallon
of milk?”