Stop smashing the bread.
Please leave on your shoes.
No you can’t steer the cart
any direction you choose.
You can’t see over the handle, and that you must know.
Let go. I’m not kidding. l decide where we go.
We walk up and down isles. Passing people who stare.
An old lady will say, “Ha, I remember being there.”
With my head full of grocery lists and my shoes hurting my feet,
Oh Gawd, I took too long, the fat one’s starting to shriek.
And I cannot not find any
way to calm his ass down.
And I’m only half way done, of course,
and can’t put my groceries down.
He likes to cry here, he likes to cry there
But it’s illegal to leave him in a box out front, in the wide open air.
No matter at Target, or Diebergs or Schnucks
to his grandparents, zoo, lunch, and Magic House, too.
We interrupt everyone’s day, and collect dirty looks,
because he thinks that’s where we go to cry, so that’s what he’ll do.
And when we walk out with only half our list complete,
I tell him, don’t worry. Don’t stew.
We will head to another store.
so you can start crying there, too.
THE PLACES WE GO! To cry.