bane of my existence.
but.
i offer here
another piece for your advice/critique.
even though
you haven't been giving me much critique ;)
and don't worry.
this piece isn't about suicide.
********
Bargains
"It's all ok. Trust me." He smiles before
we step into "SuperDepartmentStore--
Low Prices!" Brainwashed bargain zombies shove
against around between. Their odors mix
with plastic/vinyl shoes and cheap perfumes
that profer low-grade numbing headaches, while
seeming necessities (at falling prices) spill
into the narrow aisles: the toothbrush that
I know you needed, even though you don't,
the dish soap I'm not out of yet. "Ok?"
he asks. My mind is blank. I nod and look
at cards we didn't come to buy. He pulls
my arm. "Come over here and look at these."
He holds up shoes. Red shoes. The kind he knows
I've always wanted. "Let's get these." I freeze.
And fight to say, "I can't afford new shoes."
He cuts me off. "Let's make a deal. I'll buy
the shoes, the red shoes that you like. IF
you'll write about them for me." I'm game.
Headache's gone. The zombies smile. The prices soar.