New Poems

A Supermarket in Albuquerque

“What thoughts I have of you” today, Allen Ginsberg,

as I navigate the crowded aisles of the grocery store

on the day before Thanksgiving.

In my last minute errands before I slip into the holidays,

I thought this had the makings

of a poem, then thought that you had already written

that poem, and my poem, however well-intentioned

or, hopefully, well-crafted, would simply be derivative.

I swerve past the bread aisle, my usual first stop,

then realize my choices were being

made for me by the dinner invite, the confirmed

recipes and just ignored the mountain

of meat, packages of pork and poultry under the bright

lights before I stopped to let another

cart by in front of the meat counter

and then finally stopped in front

of the light green of the stalks

holding up the flowered broccoli.

No, it is the organic broccoli

with their smaller stalks that I am looking

for and the dark green of kale

that my wife slipped on to my list

as I never eat the stuff.