***** posture,
this lady, hunched
over behind the counter
tapping at buttons,
clicks and whistles,
***** and pistols

we go bang, bang, bang
on, in and around one
another

and she's there, ringing
up products, pointing
at slideshow menus

which one is
perfect for an Atkins
diet, "The Carb-o-tastic"
she says with a mild grin

she's being sarcastic,
but no one can tell;
these days our eyes hide
behind screens, brightness
on auto-pilot, the human
race pseudo-connected

come one, this table is empty,
come all, i'm free and a loosey
goosey

the windows wiped
down, heads turned
at a ninety degree angle

appetites like magnets
directed towards red
apples

this garden of Eden
used to be the refuge
for graceful angels

now it's all in ruins,

uprooted and discarded
like ***** napkins

she coughs and signals
her youngest daughter in

and tells her to mop the floor

some ******* spilled
a full cup of tomato soup

and didn't bother to
clean it up themselves