if not for the parade of
world-weary, saggy-assed mavens
limping past bargain bins
size 22 stretch pants
groping and grasping at 2 for 1 Mu Mus
Hibiscus flowers big and bright as
a baboon’s come-into-season vagina.
It might not have been so bad
save for the air perfumed by
pregnant 16 year olds wearing
Love’s Baby Soft and their 31-year-old
mothers trailing fogs of Shalimar.
Even the reek of just baked Subway sandwich
like a locker room full of old jock strap
might not have been so awful
if you didn't have to wade through
the pharmacy line
knee deep in Walmart weirdos, waiting,
muttering, one turning back
with lazy, dazed eyes
confusing you with a dear one
from that opium-addled past.
It might not have been so horrible
if you hadn’t heard the mother
greet her daughter
behind an eyeglass display, unseen,
happy, then voice suddenly sad. Daughter
didn’t make it through rehab again
for the 4th or 5th time.
“God, you look like shit. “
Daughter – no response.
“And just how
you gonna pay
for all that garbage?”
said the mother, trailing off
into silence
leaving you as empty as
a summer school yard.
You tried to hide your eyes
in scuffed-up linoleum, dull
yet clear enough to see
your own distorted reflection
a sad Quasimodo face among
gargoyle friends.
Where did grace go?
you wrote. I replied,
I didn’t know,
but I did.
It comes and goes
It comes and goes
like satisfied Crows
flying away
flying away
leaving only
scraps and bones.
scraps and bones.
