poem of the day 12.26.12

old ladies in grocery stores

old ladies in grocery stores
are the worst specimens we humans
have to offer
strategically placed
they never move an inch
and they use big carts for one item
there seem to be fleets of them
at any given time and at any given hour
nowhere else to go
nothing else to do
but check the expiration dates on cans of soup
meander down the cereal aisles
waiting on death to come
the way they block the fruits and vegetables
is like an art form in and of itself
oh, how they gaggle and congregate
in front of the meats
discussing day time shows and the weather
there are always packs of them at the deli
indecisive and mean
driving the butcher nuts
asking for their cold cuts
sliced as thin as their blood
old ladies in the grocery store
with their crucifix bullshit
with their chicken scratch lists and lima beans
with their stella d’oro madness
and flaking boxes of cream of wheat
are enough to make you commit murder
on sunday afternoons
hungover and sweating bullets
trying to bob and weave around them
getting caught behind a train
of cheap perfume-soaked, cotton-headed abominations
arguing with teenage cashiers in the check-out line
sifting through coupons and their dead husband’s money
self-righteous and entitled
your poor dumb dogged ass
just in the store for a six pack and some chips
one day off down and one to go
before the meat grinder churns your flesh
and spits out your gristle
for their social security
for another forty lost hours a week