THIS IS A POEM ABOUT BRIGHT TERRORS AND SPILLED BAGS IN PARKING LOTS 9.20.17

9.20.17

i wonder

how ineffectual

i can be

and still maintain

human relationships.

yesterday,

at one of those bright

terrors called supermarkets

a man stopped me

in the parking lot

and asked if i

could help him

lift heavy bags into

his car, his back was shot.

Nope is what i said.

Good luck is what i meant.

Nowhere is where i had to be.

but still

i hovered around his

car for ten minutes

watching him hoist these bags

into his sedan.

then one of the bags broke.

produce tumbled and rolled

and flipped and spun and

hurdled and splattered and

spilled in all directions.

he looked like he was

going to cry and i didn’t care

at all not one single bit.

believe me, i’m ashamed

because i feel no shame at all.


Written at 10:23 at night, in my office, in Agoura Hills CA, after consuming an ungodly and fankly unsafe amount of sushi. 

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