Menu Home

We haunt our aisles

wheeled sardines purr
disgorging economic units
sale ends Sunday

registers quiver
bags take their silent prey and halls
of mirrors groan

coins rest in a dampened palm
beneath her fingernails
gold coffee grit

bearing the price of suburban peace
and absent joy
we haunt our aisles

© 2014 Rod Benson

Categories: poetry

Tagged as:

Rod Benson

Theologian, researcher, teacher, writer, foodie, husband, dad. Works at Moore Theological College.

%d bloggers like this: