Child in the thick of yearning. Doll carted and pushed
like child. The aisles purport opportunities —
looking up, the women's chins, the straight rows
of peas and pretzels, Fizzies' foils, hermetic
boxes no one knows. I'll get it! What thing therein
— bendy straws, powder blue pack Blackjack gum —
will this child fix upon? On TV, women with grocery carts
careen down aisles to find expensive stuff. Mostly,
this means meat. This, then, is a life. This, a life
that's woven wrong and, woven once, disbraided, sits
like Halloween before a child, disguised in its red
Santa suit, making its lap loom the poppy field
Dorothy wants to bed. Can I have and the song's begun.
O world spotted through more frugal legs. O world.