Hordes of middle aged men pushing shopping carts
Like herds of wind whipped buffalo
Streaming through gleaming grocery store aisles
Of the American plains of retail sorrow
Baffled by the question,
Is this all?
Is this all?
Men who push shopping carts
At 10:00 a.m. on a Wednesday morning
Study the cans of tomato sauce
As if they were the next big deal.
Men who push shopping carts
Eyes cast down.
Fumbling through coupons clutched tight
Comparing price points
Wondering why we still need Swiffer sheets at $10 bucks a box
When there is no shortage of rags.
Men who push shopping carts
Out of supermarkets and into alleys.
Plopping open garbage cans to pluck out aluminum
And whatever else they can,
Men who push shopping carts
Their parade numbers swelling larger.
Dressed in the grey dark tones of winter
None of them warm enough
All of them thinking
Once I was
And
Sometimes in winter
As they motor all the carts to the Food Pantry line
Like they were once again commuting in some timeless rush hour traffic jam.
And a report was due, or a deal done or a widget rushed into production and there were complications so they had to make the call or send the e-mail and be sure to not miss the kids play or the soccer game because you have missed the last six.
Men leaving shopping carts lined up outside.
In line for the meal.
And the lady behind the counter that hands them the food is ninety one years old.
She is just one of the broken, imperfect crowd
Trying to figure it all out together.
But as she hands one man, one plate
Surrounded by their brothers and sisters
There is a life light the flickers in the one man’s eyes.
A light that darkness just can’t put out.
From that flickering light
Without any reason or measure or creation of their own
Men who push shopping carts
Still envision
One fine morning.
One fine morning.
In the bleak midwinter
Men without shopping carts can see one fine morning.
Flickering in the eyes of a 91 year old woman
Handing them their plates of food.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvVN_KRriTM]