#groceries
Your saving grace is that I bark oaths like I'm scanning barcodes.
You can get my meat by the fountain. I'll assume you want it on discount then?
Fulfillment comes when both your lips are properly clear.
When you inevitably rip and tear. Don't forget to tip the cashier.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 11:46 AM UTC
your note reads like
'gone for groceries brb'
but you left this life
and forced me to grieve.
Nov 4, 2024
Nov 4, 2024 at 3:36 PM UTC
I would have really liked
just doing laundry and taxes with you.
We're near the avocados
and I can't help but tease you
"when are you going to make the avocado dish"
it's with a sly smile I ask this.
I can't resist,
seeing your little dance
your face scrunched
and you're flustered -
"we'll get them right now, so I can make it this time"
"No, no."
"We'll get them next time"
but really I don't like avocados
it's just part of the fun.
You drop some blueberries into the cart
"they're good for the heart".
Mar 26, 2023
Mar 26, 2023 at 11:56 PM UTC
I circle the store at least three times, every time I go.
I can never make up my mind.
Usually Trader Joe will ask me if I'm OK,
Or if he can help me find anything.
Usually I'll lie and say I'm fine,
Squinting intently at the array of fresh greens
But today I asked him..
How can I decide which fruit is the sweetest?
Does it matter where it came from?
Does it matter if an onion is red, or yellow, or "sweet"
If they all will make me cry?
What's the difference between a fig and a date?
How come I can never find either of them?
If swiss chard is so good for you,
Why does it taste so bad going down?
Why do beans make you farty?
How is that a "magic fruit?"
Why is everyone blind to the lie
That carrots make your eyesight better?
Is it toe-may-toe or toe-mat-toe?
Poe-tay-toe or poe-tat-toe?
Does it matter?
Does any of this matter?
He replied, "Ma'am, my name isn't Joe. I don't know. I just work here.. and they definitely don't pay me enough for this."
So I left with an empty bag, and a heavy mind.
Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 7:39 PM UTC
“Grocery store glances, and one right hand turn.
Run away from roaming eyes, ignore the faded t-shirt and broadened back.
Eyes of blue, eerie, distant and filled with dismay.
Dangerous and taunting, tormenting my insides, so I’m daring the fates and stealing a glance, all the while I’m losing a staring contest. I sigh, and try not to remember.
Heart hammering and breathing begins to become heavy.
Heart aches, and bones shake. Surrendering the thought of you, while sanding down my heart to refinish it to its normal state.
Steady breathing, and bare bodies, memories flash, heated glances and hurtful chanting.
Hating distances and grocery bags, I sag at the thought of you, and forget why I ever hated you.”
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 2:35 AM UTC
● Doubt
● Sadness
● Envy
● Frustration
● Despair
● Shame
● Depression
● Fear
● Grief
● Disgust
● Guilt
● Hate
● Irritation
● Bitterness
● Loathe
● Destruction
● Annoyance
● Displeasure
● Aggression
● Manipulation
● Exhaustion
Oct 20, 2019
Oct 20, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
Bagging groceries has given me
A strange window into people's lives
I stuff their secrets into a paper sack
And I tell them to have a good day
But I'm not sure they do
Apr 24, 2019
Apr 24, 2019 at 12:25 AM UTC
We all go grocery shopping on Saturday at 4pm, and that’s America for you, but do you have to buy the last demi-loaf of artisan rice flour sourdough and swoop in to get the only carton of organic, local, grass-fed, 2% milk that I like, then have the tenacity to take the final gold foil-wrapped bar of imported Belgian dark chocolate and, for that matter, give me a Christ-save-your-soul stare when I spend a good five minutes debating the respective virtues of KY and Astroglide?
Thank god, at least, America sells liquor with its bread and milk and ****
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 5:35 PM UTC
He stands next to me in the grocery aisle
A migrant from who-knows-where.
He's just like me, I suppose
An unknown guest
A visitor, with a scarcely-filled cart.
Perhaps I'd pay him no mind at all
If he didn't stand close enough to me
To at least be an acquaintance.
He lingers at my side
Too comfortable to be considered a newcomer.
I shuffle away, bag of flour in hand
Ensure that he is but a sojourner.
Later, though
He finds me in the checkout line
Eyes mysterious
Lips telling.
"Need any help with those bags?"
Brain frozen in discomfort, I shrug.
"Sure."
So we walk to the car
His hands on my bags
Mine on my keys
As we venture across the parking lot.
I pop the trunk
Wondering how I'd feel
If I had been helped by a female instead.
Still, I help this man
Try not to misjudge
As we silently put away my finds.
In my mind, however
I continue to evaluate and second guess
Not for the first time, I wonder:
"Is this kindly stranger friend or foe?"
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 10:35 PM UTC
i helped a lady
take her groceries to her house today.
it was the same lady
i watched cross the street
it was the same lady
i didnt hear walk into the corner store behind me.
it was the same lady
i let the door fall onto.
i couldnt hear her.
she ended up ahead of me on the sidewalk.
grocery bags on the pavement.
phone on her ear.
i walked by her.
she apologized
said she was trying to get help.
we walked together.
she told me 'help' was on the patio
drinking a beer.
she asked where i lived
and i said a street over.
she said she hoped she'd see me around.
and i said maybe not, im going home for the summer.
she asked if i was getting out of the rat race
im too young for the rat race.
she thanked me a lot
and said
'some good karma will come your way
im a firm believer in that'
me too
i said.
i walked home and thought
i should write a poem about
that conversation.
about giving a second chance
about being a kind person.
about karma.
usually when something like this happens
i write the minute i get home
but i didnt.
i realized, i dont think i can write
about happy things
because when they happen
they always ferment until
they're not what they were.
it was a quick high
a genuine moment.
if karma is real
and that woman is right
either im the devil himself
or theres a big check
with my name on it.
before i started writing
i googled seasonal depression symptoms
apparently not talking to anyone between the months of february and may every year is still a horse with no name.
how do you **** a love
you made yourself.
i leave this town in a week
and i feel as broken
and confused
as the **** i tried to leave
all i want to do is jump in the river
to see if i can really swim
and figure it out from there.
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 4:48 AM UTC
Since I saw you,
I've had this hope live in me.
That everything that isn't needed be gone.
The details of sales papers, shopping carts.
The ease of temptation.
Standing still.
To fill my cart full of things I don't need.
Coffee rings, free samples.
The debris of reality.
Strings and paper slings around baked goods.
Shopping around facedown.
Pushing the cart row after row.
The things on sale.
The pings of the register.
Splints that aren't necessarily the object we've come face to face with.
Jamaican ***
Our fingerprints used in vain
The residue from coffee pots and things we've touched.
Bottled, sealed tight.
Fresh water springs.
Still we pursue.
I pursue.
Your carefree sensibility.
I've walked every row in search.
Where have you gone,
Withdrawn
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
For a week straight, I avoided going to the supermarket, even when my stomach grumbled and the fridge stayed empty and lonely. And instead, I looked through my binoculars from the tree house my dad had built with a few planks of wood, nails, and a rusty hammer. A place he’d built before I was put into my mother’s arms and put into a bright blue cradle. Blue as the shirt Abigail was wearing, the same day the cops busted her for giving head to my best friend Isaac in my Toyota Camry. Right in the middle of the parking lot of the supermarket, as I bought pancake batter and cage-free eggs for breakfast.
And Abigail never ate that meal after she spent a week wasting away in a cell block, reading JD Salinger stories over and over, as though his words could heal her marks and bruises.
Today, I made pancakes and eggs for breakfast. I waited for the TV to load a Netflix show, hoping Abigail had learned from her mistakes. She passed me the salt and pepper shakers, as I lit a cigarette, sat in a chair, and smoldered.
Abigail put her face in her hands, cried for a bit, even reached for the ***** bottle.
We went to the supermarket later, walked down one aisle, and picked up meat and potatoes. As we headed for the self-checkout line, I passed the breakfast section and saw the pancake batter and the eggs. Abigail crumbled to the floor, said, “I’m so sorry.”
After that, we never touched breakfast.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
I am a midnight stocker
at the grocery store
putting product on the shelf
that, and so much more
When talking to the ladies
I get looks I don't understand
the conversation abrupt
a wringing of their hands
Yes, I was the midnight stocker
at the grocery store
not following you around
like your boyfriend did before..
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
Remember when life was delivered
from milk right on down to your meat
There'd be people out delivering groceries
At least two on every side street
If you neglected to pick up an item
Just phone up and talk to the store
A delivery boy would soon bring it
You don't get this service no more
Each house had a door for deliveries
Your milk, cheese and eggs would all fit
If you call up today and said "tab it"
The person you're phoning would ****
Ice was delivered in wagons
Horses pulled them around every town
But, today ony fast food is delivered
And delivery horses aren't found
Every morning when you'd get your paper
It was delivered as well by a kid
You could smell the fresh bread in the morning
with the glass bottles of milk with gold lids
Remember when life was delivered
It was all a much simpler time
Back when customer service was special
No it's gone and that's just a crime
May 6, 2012
May 6, 2012 at 1:22 PM UTC
I think I love too easily.
I find it so simple to pick out the best traits in somebody.
I like to know what makes people tick and what makes their pupils dilate. I can fall in love with the way they talk about
their favorite shades of color
and the way they pick out groceries.
I am interested in the way people take their coffee
and if they prefer tea better.
and why
herbal
caffeinated
I find myself loving people for their laughter
and the crinkles beneath their eyes when they smile.
And I think it’s so cute whenever they suppress their grins
when they think of something funny or memorable.
I love the way people talk about life
and what’s on their mind;
it’s nice to know that there is more
more to discuss than the sounds on mattresses
and the type of plant they inhale.
You are beautiful.
I love the way people spill their hearts out when they’re happy
or when they’re sad.
Sometimes, when they don’t let me love them,
it makes me want to love them even more.
And even when they don’t love me back, I still continue to love.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
Yes it’s true, your face is quite the train wreck
Your musk drives the molded cheese to envy.
Everywhere you go, people always check
To see the trail of rotting behind thee.
When some person asks, “paper or plastic?”
It is not a question meant for your goods.
For your features are often so drastic
That the public cries out your need for hoods.
Yet a midst the rotting grapes of your eyes
And the corn husk hair on your peeling face,
Lies a certain beauty found deep inside.
It turns all to compost, nourishing grace.
Bananas are sweet, even with dull skin.
Like how your true flavor, is found within.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:09 AM UTC