In Walmart

I find myself foraging, basket in hand among the cocoa harvests of distant lands. A shaft of light crashes like a Chinese paratrooper through the store’s skylight, rays pieces high-stacked shelves, beam upon all-consuming shoppers, flash briefly upon brimful spandex. It is then I realize that all I need is you, not cut-price plastic hole fillers, from this warehouse of empty dreams, nor anything blue, green, or yellow seen on T.V. but then I remember the wine and beers in aisle twenty-two - but I still I love you.