In the Supermarket

As I linger in the produce,

fondling black avocados,

looking for that perfect

avocado, just ripe and not

yet ruined from sitting

in the bin, unchosen too long,

it occurs to me that someone

else in the next aisle might

linger over cereal boxes,

might pick Trix for the kids,

and, reluctantly, Heartsmart

for herself. She might have

thoughts like mine, divagating

thoughts, low-level anxieties over

the state of the economy,

evolving to resentment for

the driver who cut her off

on the way here (what a prick),

then a giggly flit to something

sort of funny someone said

this morning (you had to be there).

It occurs to me that someone else

across the store lingers over milk.

studies, perhaps, the expiry dates,

reaches, perhaps, to the back

of the rows of milk in the milk cooler,

looking for the fresh stuff in the back.

Maybe he feels a little guilty

right now. My cousin's house

burned yesterday and everything

was lost inside, even her purse

even her carkeys. I feel guilty for my

small worries. Maybe this guy spoke

too sharply to his wife, or to his son,

or to his dog, and as he drags that

fresh gallon of milk from the back

milkrow maybe he thinks how

he should buy a small gift:

bath oil for the wife, chocolate

cupcakes for the son,

liver treats for the dog.

Once I grew impatient

at the checkout line. That

large woman slid her EBT card

through the reader and each time

the checker said, "It's still

denied" she pointed, silently,

to an item on the counter,

which the checker removed,

first the chocolate bars, then

the mixed nuts, then sausage,

then the tomato juice.

The checker saw me fidget

and rolled her eyes.

The wordless woman's

cheeks colored.

I select a less-than-perfect

avocado, and dawdle

toward the bakery. A tall

girl in a drab black skirt

is studying the variety

of Vlasic pickles.

Donny Davis, August, 2007