it’s cold over here by the quiches
i pull my shawl tighter
around my shoulders and
as someone steps just a bit too close.
the bread aisle is full of choices
i’m sure there weren’t
so many types of loaf
when i was young.
in the fish aisle i stop and stare
my mind switches to a frequency
aligned with the hum of the refridgerators
and i lose myself momentarily
in its gentle buzz.
the world outside is loud but it is morning
and the shop hasn’t yet been invaded
by screaming children and toddler tantrums
and life-tired workers at lunch.
“beep” says the machine as i feed it my card and
“beep” as it replies with my receipt
stuff in bag, i schlep
out through the whoosh
of the automatic doors
and back to the world beyond.