The brown bagger at the end of the aisle is causing a commotion
In no subtle way, on this smoky day, he is exploding cans of soda.
The girl on the other ends pulls the c(h)ord across her middle
She presses shiny thumbtacks into her shoe soles
and begins to tap, tap, tap.
He says, “waste not, want not.” He hides the plastic ones behind
the cereal boxes in aisle five.They know nothing of his plan.
They don’t hear his smirk.
She is a step beyond oblivion. Her shoes silvering the tap.
Tripping the light fantastic; her work a Vermeer in waiting.
(He says what she knows, because he says nothing.
She knows what he knows, and that is something).
1+1+1+1=
In the gallery, she seizes the monochromatic picture
and names it monosyllabic. Her artful dodging of pertinent
questions, leads us to believe in art.
His eyes dart back and forth along the stretch of road.
His mind collapses things that have strong resolve.
She glues boxes together, a platform to the sky.
On hinges wooden hangs, on wings transparent glides.
He is a fool without the foolery.
He has a tooled leather belt.
He wants to whip the world with it.
(He knows what she knows, because he says nothing.
She knows what he knows, and that is something).
