And that one over there
with the dollar store lipstick
and washed-out purple hair–
comparing store brand
spaghetti pastas
as if she actually has a choice
in the matter.
an ex-meth head perhaps–
nah, not skinny enough
though her face fits the bill
below poverty line, well
that’s a given
in her mind
there’s no hell
or heaven
because it’s all
garbage–
an amateur Nihilist
and she doesn’t even know it.
she tosses the store-brand option
into her cart–
and when she gets home
that pasta will boil and churn
in a third-hand pot
–half to be chewed up and swallowed
–and half to go where the the other half goes
too rubbery to be eaten.
And it won’t matter then where it all came from
which smokestacks and robotic hands
strewn there
amidst crushed cigarette cartons and soda cans
in the receptacle of leftover-heaven.
Who is she, you ask–
hell if I know
who she is–
and I reckon
neither does she.
