Key Food
I notice how they avoid me in
the aisles of the Key Food on
Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn.
Just like I used to avoid older
people wandering in the aisles
of urban supermarkets at night,
afraid I might turn out like them,
older, alone, looking for some
thing, or nothing, in a creepy
environment with nowhere else
to go. The young professionals
always seem to know what they
want, how to grab it, and vanish.
They have other places to go, or
perhaps they are unsure of where
they will end up, so that motivates
them to keep moving quickly. I,
on the other hand, have ended up
here, in the Key Food on Atlantic
Avenue in Brooklyn, alone, looking
for something, or nothing, enjoying
the florescent lights that I used to
abhor, the company of strangers,
who don’t scare me anymore, and
all the choices I have to make: jalapeno
peppers for quesadillas, Frankie’s
hot sauce for when I run out of
jalapeno peppers, frozen raspberries
for smoothies in the morning, fresh
spinach, Minneola oranges, water,
and small cans of tomato sauce
with garlic, basil, and oregano.
