12/14

supermarket underwater

we used to hold our breath,
my mom, my brother, & i 
in the blue water. i asked
for webbed feet or gills.
we put foot stamps beneath our tongues
& shut our eyes.
a drenching urge to purchase
everyone's conversations
as they packaged themselves
in plastic. a pair of scissors
just for cutting open glass.
automatic bubble.
the shopping cart hovering slightly
as we all worked to thrust. 
my brother complaining 
of the lack of air & mom explaining
"this will all be over soon."
once a year
someone drowns in the market
& everyone else waits for the body
to be fished out with net.
what separates fish meat
from human meat from
jack fruit meat? 
i buy diving gear because i want
to feel powerful even 
in the sea of my hungers. 
i'm sick of buying toilet paper
& shampoo.
i want to only snap up 
cake & sweets & cherries & melon
floating in the depths. 
live in a house of sugar.
dissolve under my own tongue.
it is not fair
there's so many aisles.
one for each stripe of longing.
with my new suit i can last
almost a whole day
underwater. the dry world
knows nothing of pressure
& push. a plastic bag
billowing like a jellyfish 
or a ghost. i'm filling the cart.
i'm using my webbed feet.
soon, i will break the surface
& the air will gasp as i 
& all the others exit
via the supermarket ramp.
the whole scene will be
mostly hidden under the surface.
just a water-blurry neon red sign
saying, "SHOP HERE."

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