Grocery store
Learn more about other poetry terms
The Grocery Game
I enter the sliding glass doors
My purse in my hand
I take breath, in and out
Dear Older Woman in the Grocery Store,
I am your cashier.
I scan your cookies, your cakes, your medications;
I make polite conversation, delicately choosing my words
As you delicately chose and scribbled each item
I stock shelves at a grocery market for money.
It's what I do.
Not who I am.
But I saw some flowers sketched onto a can.
It was a vine of flowers.
Coiled around the "S" on the words "Green beans"
