Chapter 41: The shopping cart.
I miss touching vegetables
and feeling their skin on my clean
but disinfectant free palms.
To pick up a tomato and gently bag it,
place it carefully next to the okra
picked one at a time, all 50 of them.
To knock on the watermelon,
reach for the greens at the very back
admiring its deep hues.
The meticulous lists that were disregarded
in favor of the smell
of something fresh and seasonally spotted.
I miss smiling at strangers and
noticing the generosity or lack of,
in their shopping ways.
I always try a sample,
especially if it is chocolates or cheese,
or the promised softness of handmade creams.
The kids hanging off the cart
Often lost to the aisles of chips,
only to find them later in the bakery.
My bags, neatly arranged in the shopping cart,
with sunflowers sticking out,
singing an ode to friendly skies.
They say when apocalypse comes
we wont know it.
I'll probably still need milk and bread that day.
we wont know it.
I'll probably still need milk and bread that day.
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