GROCERY SHOPPING WITH MY WIFE ON A WINDY JANUARY DAY
First, we scanned chilled blue skies
for signs of comfort as
we dressed up in layers
to venture out where trees
are bent over like old
chess players huddled at
a park square deep in thought.
Our trip for groceries
turned glacial – we could have
been on Shackleton’s team –
each with duties, routines
to keep our focus, shift
our luck. I will find us
lettuce, butter, cereal.
She will search for paper
goods, cleaning products. Our
supermarket’s aisles are swelled.
Who knows if it is King’s
birthday or Trump’s furlough
that finds us all here, carts
filling with chicken soups,
instant cocoa and whipped cream.
It feels as though we might
find some comfort here that
eludes us elsewhere. As
if din of commerce might
obscure our deeper fears
that our capacities
for survival were merely
temporary; that, like
the Endurance, we might
weaken or falter against
pack ice and shifting gales.
And so we add chocolate
cookies. And a Merlot.