poem of the day 12.04.12

her favorite song

i stopped at the grocery store

after working the ass-end of a long shift

answering more questions

than i’d ever asked in my life

my goals were clear

home and whisky

my needs were simple

bread and beer

but in the checkout line

she’s not even paying any attention

she’s not ringing up my shit

she’s standing their swaying

head bobbing, her eyes closed

the top lip biting the lower pierced one

grooving to some top-40 hybrid of rock-rap

that has to be at least a decade older than her

this is my favorite song, she tells me

i don’t know it, i say

and start pushing my groceries closer to her

you don’t?  it’s a classic

i miss a lot of things, i tell her

wondering what she’d do if i opened a beer right now

considering it’s like we’re in a club anyway

i think i’m going to cry, she says, still swaying

please don’t, i say

i hate it when women cry

but this song means so much to me

could you cry after you’ve rung up my beer?

she rolls her eyes and laughs

starts singing the terrible song to me

while ringing up my items

it’s not cute the way she breathlessly warbles the lyrics

it’s embarrassing and sad for the both of us

and i want to beg for an ending

or go and find that cashier who just tosses my stuff

in the plastic bag while talking on her cell phone

i find her inhumanity much warmer than

this little cashier serenading me

as close and intimate as i’ve been with someone

this whole miserable day

and that says more about me

and the state of humanity

than any song

in any grocery store

could ever hope to articulate.