Shopping for groceries as the plague approaches
Dan Bogey
Shopping for groceries as the plague approaches
The parking lot is deserted, except in front of the grocery store
The teenaged cart wrangler asks everyone who passes by
“Do you think this will be over in two weeks?”
“I sure hope so” I reply, turning my face away
An old woman with an oxygen tank in her cart
Stares at a man with his coat pulled up to cover his nose
Inside the store shoppers dully glide through the aisles
Empty meat and produce cases, stark and white
In the bread section one crushed package of hot dog roll
Parents use the store as an introduction to a suddenly scary world
Groups huddled, disrupting traffic flow as they whisper about “it”
Carts filled with toilet paper, water and uncertainty
I trudge through the aisles, keeping my distance
The length of my list long, contents of my cart meager
I make pointless executive decisions
A package of cookies, a toy for the dog
I pay, saving a dollar for the lottery machine
Get my scratch off, sanitize and go home
Shopping for groceries as the plague approaches