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 pierce 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.
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