The mother ahead tightens her grip on her son

And makes a hissing sound.

The News of The World says POSH GOES ON A SPREE,

LINDSAY CAUGHT WITH A SYRINGE.

The Down’s kid, bagging, roundly smiles,

To the man with suspenders, the next aisle over, who smiles not.

The sweaty manager mutters by to turn the key on the register,

For the girl with the fish tattoo while

She tears up the coupons that came in Sunday’s paper.

The little light that leaks thought the exit door

Gets swallowed up.

Over there,

Diogenes is holding his lamp and calling.

While we try to balance the acts

Of listening and not listening;

Of public imagining and staring

At the stack of melons.

This is why I like the Price Chopper

Better than

The CO-OP.