Market Basket

I stalk
the ponderous aisles
the produce almost
pressing against my
supple flesh–
Vines leap off
the sides of bins
tempting me
bearing their fruit.

Counterman
in their bloody whites
preside
over a glass mausoleum
of chilled meats.

Carts
madly jockey
for position,
a Brazilian
skillfully
navigates
the twisting terrain
like a flashy soccer player.

And I forge blindly ahead
oblivious
to the din
the riotous colors of fruits
and men
and at the end
I will most assuredly
pay a price.

— Doug Holder