Shopping Alone



The copy’s good enough to eat, a private

Swoon behind no-look glass.

We’re acting out a commercial in which

Refills line up like iron, the detox

Boundary between value and use.

The colored glass nob. The pulverized

Rock-face journal. The shampoo

Bent back over its own lather.

If those salespeople are in the way

When the fizzy bath bomb goes off, we can’t

Be held accountable for our own desires,

Blooming in the dark-stained pan.



The label works in its absence

Of generosity, ultra-smooth-clean

Donuts and muffins filling the empty space.

What it doesn’t give you is a walk to somewhere

That’s all afternoon long, the pavement flushed

From embarrassment or exertion.

Better to be left alone. I wanted

To get on the wrong train, carefully

Picking past the sad-dog eyes

Lined up along the platform like

So many shoes emptied of their wares.