...quiet, about a lot of things...

long wide and dirty
the aisle to the
little boys underwear
department

winds past purple
paisley pantsuits

and pink cashmere
twin sets. he sees
her eyes as she
tries not to look.

But she does.


She cups his
damp and fleshy
hand in hers.

instead of
turning left
she steers him right

past the bone
and ivory breast
balloons..hadn't he
once called them that?
when he was much younger..

Lacy and deflated
they scare him now.
Hollow and haunting

they Make him feel
lost and empty.
he looks nowhere but down.
Feet on the wide long isle.
he is a foreign lad
in a foreign land.

he lets her lead him blindly
past what he does not yet fathom
he wants, to the only department
he has ever known.

the place of
6 pairs to a package,
now marked 50% off.

tucked forgotten in
the corner of
the half dressed
women and the broken
men.

Labels: Poetry Thursday