<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530508" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>At the Supermarket</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the supermarket, <br> The produce is stacked to the ceiling<br> And the fresh fruit<br>Is at the bottom.<br> You may feel pings<br>Of in di gestion<br> After eating<br> The ones<br> The The<br> theXXXXX1XXXXX1s<br> at<br> the<br> top<br> of the heap.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the supermarket, <br> Boxes are placed neatly in rows, <br>Perhaps even single file, <br> Marching in procession<br> Into consuming hands.<br> I'm sure they'll be ripped<br>O<br>pen<br> And ravished into cardboard ashes<br> When mom brings them home<br> To the kids.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the supermarket, <br> Fish are packed tightly in tin cans, <br> Swimming nowhere in a packaged sea, <br> Salted for extra flavor…<br>Or was it to keep them from disintegrating? <br> Some cow's leg<br> Is slopped into a plastic wrap, <br> Blood still oozing out from the muscle.<br>A pig is split in half, Gutted and beheaded—<br> Put on a rotisserie<br> To spin around on the<br> Artificial fire.<br> Several chickens are neighborly<br> To the slab of pig carcass; <br> They also spin around and around<br> On the trochllic stick.<br> It's almost like<br> An amusement park ride<br> For dead animals.<br>Except it's not.<br> It's not. It's not. It's not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the supermarket, <br> The aisles caress my blind spots.<br>Above me: <br> Phosphorescent light.<br>Below me: <br> Linoleum tiles.<br>Straight ahead, it appears as if the tunnel of my vision narrows, <br>restricting me a single speck of light for my focal point. Behind <br>me, things are much more obtuse, widening as I pass.<br> My cart wobbles as I push it.<br> Rickety squeaks emit from the<br> Dilapidated wheels.<br> It sounds like shaking cutlery<br> As my steps progress<br> Into another hallway<br> Of white nowhere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At the supermarket, <br> They toss my belongings<br>In a disposable plastic bag<br> Or a paper one<br> That says recycled <br>Somewhere on it, <br> But I know better. <br> I'll throw it out<br>Anyway. Who cares? ? <br> Not me.<br> Not me.<br> Not me.<br> Not me.<br> Not me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Tim+Stensloff">Tim Stensloff</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=530508" data-title="At the Supermarket de Tim Stensloff" data-description="At the supermarket, The produce is stacked to the ceiling And the fresh fruit Is at the bottom. You may feel pings Of in di gestion After eating The ones The The theXXXXX1XXXXX1s at the top of the heap. ..."></div> </div> </div>

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