ShopRite

on a friday night after work
i let the gps pull my green volvo 
from the driveway of the house on grant avenue.
i never knew anywhere by heart
so used the device for 
mundane locations: grocery store
school gym laundry mat.
dull yellow headlights. the streets 
always bulged in mineola.
do you really live somewhere 
if you can't move without directions?
stoplight after stoplight.
collecting turn signals. i traveled
alone & wondered what my life was.
i would do anything now to crawl back
into those early nights
when the sight of the train 
still ignited wonder in me.
drifting through long island towns
with wider questions.
the strange excitement of 
that tiny shoprite parking lot. stray carts
nudging into each other. 
cracked pavement. looking for
a caramel swirl pint of ice cream.
wandered aimless. an 80s pop song
crooning over the intercom.
crinkle of bags being loaded into carts.
a grocery store 
will always be my favorite liminal space. 
clutching my phone.
wonderfully alone. a bag of 
frivolous groceries in the backseat 
driving back to the sound
of my clattering engine.
stop and go. a right turn.
a left. lines of cars on the highway.
opening the window
just a sliver to feel a slit of air.
sitting in the driveway 
much longer than i needed to
feeling too old at twenty-two. 
friday night deepening
like a well of wanting or needing.
i can never tell the difference
between the two.