Costco

Racing,
ass up,
through Costco.

Both feet
slashing through
ceiling air vents,
leaving behind

tracks.
Today, of
espadrilles and
shin
blood.

Can’t think.
just need
summer squash.

The blood is a
health code

violation.
Why is it

Mother’s day?
And Christ,
everything is
sideways.

My feet won’t
thread
light.

They’ve
destroyed
everything overhead.

Is this heart stuff or
too much frozen
cold
brew?

---

Six
minutes
left.

The floor
is a mile.
Could do that in
High School.

But,
samples.

Squealing to me
through
sweaty shoulders,

focus.

Clean it up
before
she sees
you.

---

Snow dusted
zucchini
swing dripping
through the
floor grate.

Feels soft,
smushed
between toes
not
looking.

Rottenly
quiet.

Peace in
the fire,
they say.