grocery list

So often

potatoes, bananas, bread and eggs
butter, juice, veggies and an entré
become a fascination:
push a shopping cart
trundle through aisles
dodging other shoppers
remembering the list:

potatoes, bananas, bread and eggs
butter, juice, veggies and an entré
drift through the brain
a goal to be attained
the dairy aisle becomes
the summit climbed
because it’s there

potatoes, bananas, bread and eggs
butter, juice, veggies and an entré
so often the same list
the certainty numbs
why not tattoo
that on your forearm
but then

potatoes, bananas, bread and eggs
butter, juice, veggies and an entré
is easily memorized
and the folly
of the indelible
becomes the tragedy
of life avoided

The voice of the poet

riverwriter reads:  

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else?
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4 Responses to grocery list

  1. F.U. says:

    The author appears to have lost his emotional connection to the food he is about to take home, open and fondle, lick, sniff and ultimately consume.

    • riverwriter says:

      Dear F.U.
      It has been such a long time!
      You are correct, of course. Shopping has become an abstraction for him.
      The idea of tattooing a shopping list to one’s arm struck me as incredibly funny as I was entering Maynard’s yesterday, and I felt I had to use it.
      All the best,
      Nuncle

      • F.U says:

        Yes! Tattooing- we tend to accept the consumerism of grocery shopping as the only legitimate fetishism involved here. Inscribing the list into your flesh is a nice bit of masochistic sentiment which transforms the grocery shopping experience into a more visceral event. How can we return to the “original pain” of grocery shopping?

        • riverwriter says:

          Try shopping in a grocery store in Italy, where there seems to be no concept of politely lining up, and bruises from intrusive shopping carts and swung shopping baskets are part of the experience. That might bring back part of the original pain of shopping . . . :D

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