The Closing Notes

The grocery store lines are striking to the forefront of my hands,

Forcing callouses on the parts of speech I missed. 

I lean into this red plastic,

Twist my lips to past embrace.  

And dare I look,

I am upset in my memory of you. 

Feign the body as if it was a souvenir,

A wayward port on a pointless trip. 

Wasted tire miles and pretend sleep. 

I will spin the happiness of you into my own foreign sadness,

Drap my covetous hands over like a used sweater.

Let your tranquil wait,

Watch the comfort new skin brings you,

Solace, 

Whose name I have yet to forget.  

Something in the cart hexagons tells me I’m vindicated.  

I press my body,

To find the time I gave something other than vexing presence. 

Pointer finger to thumb,

Stimulate small friction, 

Those are the fingers that grab towards old one-sided expressions. 

I look hard,

Scan the isles.

Not stacked on the selves,

No one has stocked

Negligent lover.

It is my favorite taste.

But I stand in line.

Repeat the backwash memory over. 

I say I’m sorry,

For the handouts, 

I took them with a greedy mouth.