Shopping Cart

“damn!” I trade the crippled cart
for one with wheels that will glide
even when the carriage bulges
with meats:  ground beef, pork,
skinless chicken breasts,
lamb chops, bacon and
sausage; cheese: feta
and cheddar, low-fat
swiss: vegetables: 
lettuce, tomatoes,
cabbage and carrots,
potatoes, squash and
turnip, green peppers,
onion, parsley
fruit:  apples, oranges,
melons and grapes
cartons of crackers
three kinds of soup
milk and juice and butter
two dozen eggs and
bagels and fresh baked
bread; a case of pop;
tortilla chips, with
salsa, diet pop, more
chips, toilet paper
and kleenex, a treat
for the kids;  and a
magazine for me
and snacks (too many snacks)
until I think even these wheels
will forget to turn silently and obediently
as they carry my loot through the cash

Later, as I turn
a corner on St. George
I hear them:  the wheels
limping noisily,
anxiously over
bumps and cracks in the
sidewalk. Fast they go,
as Leo (eveyone knows him)
pushes the cart hurriedly,
head down, trying not to be seen
transporting two well rumpled
garbage bags holding everything
he hopes he owns