Mr. Jensen buys his wife Jergens
at four in the
morning
while wearing purple polka dot pajamas
as Michael and I
play hopscotch
over cracked yellow tile
that leads us past
pre-packaged
luncheon meats
and we'll go quick
because we
don't
eat meat
not even the kind
that is ninety-nine
percent
fat free
we'll go quick
because we don't
want to
trip over the
shoelaces of the boy
with the goatee and with
the
backwards baseball hat
the one that takes his girl
browsing
through the premium
micro-brew beer section
only to buy the Bud
Light
because he's broke
and she's watching her waistline
so
we don't talk to them
say "hi" say "excuse me"
just smooth
past
ice skating on
just waxed late night floors
in search of
ingredients
for a chocolate cheesecake recipe
that Michael keeps in
his back pocket
smooth past as a size
three woman
shoves
Covergirl cosmetics
and a leg of lamb
down a size ten
jumpsuit
while she mumbles and rationalizes that
the foodstamps are
three
days late
we careen around corners
with women and their
kids
in plastic child safety seats
that are securely mounted
to
wobbly market baskets
and find that we have now found
the
sauce and condiment aisle
spend five minutes explaining
to
Michael that Ragu and Betty Crocker
are different
same target
selling demographic
but different
both have chubby Italian
spokespersons
but Angel Food Cake and Extra Chunky Marinara
Sauce
are from different food groups
before finally making it to
baked goods
grab mix, grab eggs, grab
the latest copy of the
National Enquirer
for our reading pleasure
and slip past the
register before our
coupon expires