Waking Up In a Supermarket
I go to the supermarket
to buy some mangoes.
I’ve had five coffees
And spent hours on detangling
computer wires.
Reciting a poem I remember
from fourth grade
I opened another three college
letters in the mail yesterday.
The mailman’s teeth were yellow.
We regret to inform you
We regret to inform you
We regret to inform you that
There are no mangoes in store
Says the employee,
Eyes grey and sunken. I notice
His neon blue shirt has
thinly stuck to the skin.
I wander and run my hand around
metal
cold the fridges are cold
I open the door and let the icy
sternness turn me numb.
Maybe my face will fall off.
Perhaps I can write about it in a
supplemental essay.
What is one difficulty you’ve
had to overcome.
Well you see one day they had no mangoes
So I slept overnight
on the kitchen tool isle.
I carried a packet of Pop Tarts with me
only to put it back as I left.
In the morning I prayed for a mango tree in
Hazy misty weather.
I notice a puff of greasy air.
There can grow no mangoes here
For it is all ashen and tarnished and empty.
Look, that street where I would once turn
with my dog to go to the park.
When I was five how lovely it had been.
I remember green and summer
and bees and boys.
Now, my hands have written themselves
away – inked blue.
I pull my scarf behind my neck
twirling it around myself once more. Note
Need to Call Aunt Celine for Christmas.
Taking a walk is good for the body.
Aimless walking can be a primary sign
of depression.
Daily activity helps to relieve
stress.
Try not to let it take your spark away.
That's what they always say.
Lights pierce my eyes and
I missed a friend’s party.
Called in sick
from the lights.
We have other fruit available if you’d like.
Kindly I turn down the
meaty strawberries.
Perhaps I could buy some gum
Or whiteout.
I think about how
the city seems as stiff as I do.
In the chilled morning, before I leave.
How nice would it have all been
If I simply had some mangoes.
A soda and these rice cakes will do.
Maybe I should grow my own –
There in the sun cracks –
thread between sky and portwater.
There may grow my mango tree.
Copyright © Alexia Sextou | Year Posted 2025
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