I grab a cart handle and smirk, I have a cold this time
One less thing to worry about.
The wheel squeaks and pulls.
One more thing to worry about.

Shooters of wine greet and then mock
At my lack of age.
I turn down ails like
The pages of a well worn book
A no longer interesting text
On how to troubleshoot Windows 95.

Pages filled of colors and high fructose corn sugar
White bread and corn tortillas.
Clothing. Seems already dropping from the hangers.
Workers. No longer holding their heads up.
But wander the ails as I do.
I see the look of a job
Sat on too long and has staled
I see milk.
Organic milk.
And yogurt nearby.
Hot pockets.
Organic hot pockets.
Organic chips.
Bacon ranch organic chips.
It is all in the branding.
Less heat and more thought control is needed
For the American public than the average feed lot stock.
At last what I need is found.
And I can leave before I drown
In over-consumption .
Then back into the cold of February.
And into my van.
I cut someone off as I sped away.