She was one in a million
the first time I laid eyes upon her
in isle 12. Her curves exemplified
by the green supermarket apron she filled out
so perfectly; the small of her back arched
as she stretched out a hand towards the fruit loops
on the top shelf
and I caught a glimpse
of a nymph like little face
with curiosity and wonder still left
behind the eyes.
Something
I thought,
only reserved for women
in high gloss magazines from New York.
She had long flowing blonde hair that was messy
but in a subtle sort of elegant way,
almost deliberate, like she didn’t want you to think she was trying
too hard.
It suited her.
She’d do these little gestures
that were all part of her game,
one you weren’t aware
you had started playing.
Sharing a Coke in the break room,
picking the next register over on shift,
smiling at you from behind
the latest issue of Seventeen
with those baby blues
and smacking her gum.
I fell, I swooned, I became her automaton
in perfect space and time with an
implant in my brain.
She controlled my hardwiring
in every sense of mind
step, walk, act of balance,
breath
and blink.
She had the most delectable makeup combo that day;
her lips so gush-able, juicy and red
that they reminded me of the candy I used to get in my Halloween bag.
I wanted to bite them
ever so softly.
And then with the part of her breath
I blurted out the words
requesting her honor to Spiderman 2.
I asked,
the answer came
not with words but a freeze
then a giggle
then a fast walk
off to the frozen food section;
the one where the waffles were half off\\on special,
whispering to her sister
laughing and
looking.
I lost it
time stopped
then my head exploded.
Everyone could see inside into what I was thinking;
laid bare, naked,
exposed to the world
like a baby on a bed sheet
for the taking.
Each customer that came through my lane
was a mindreader.
Every smile, hey how are you, nice day isn’t it
felt like a jab to the face,
and a reveal of my deepest
darkest secrets.
I kept scanning the items
across the checker
but they might as well have been pieces
of my heart
being taken away
little by little, carted off into the wind
until there was nothing left
fed to the wolves in the parking lot
by the cart returns,
or taken home as souvenirs
for people to put on their plates
and serve up hot,
blood running from their mouths
as they were made younger.
By the end of the shift I was so beat up
I could hardly stand,
sweating underneath the florescence
my mind was running
a marathon I didn’t train for.
It was time to get out.
I jogged
no, sprinted towards the exit
in a flash
not caring if everyone thought I was a spaz.
I was.
Past the Mountain Dew goal posts,
the labor day streamers, and pumpkin spice hot toddy
I ran;
a cart squealed, an old lady slipped,
and a doberman lost its bowels.
The automated doors gifted me
a chance at freedom
and I took it
out to the parking lot
where I chucked my badge
into someone’s Buick.
My day was over
before it began.