Supermarket

Addison’s Superstore
(built over the forest where I used to play)

The Hardware Aisle is where I saw Emily pee
or thereabouts, before these saws and planes.
Before limbs of shelves, white aluminum bark, sticker leaves.
This is where I learned a difference,
saw Emily’s ‘yours’
peeking though I promised,
under the dappling fluorescent.

Marco broke his arm falling through these hung bikes,
reaching out for the tallest spoke.
I found his body a broken X,
crying, tears beading on waxed linoleum.
Swearing with awe, we circled.
Bone out, wild from his blood
his cries of Mom and Dad
as loud as this announcement.

I held Melissa’s hand in Pet Supplies
and tasted a cigarette butt in the Women’s Restroom.
Found half of a page of a Playboy
huddling between the Milk and the Eggs.

That checkout was a jump
for BMXers like me and Rick.
We’d pick up speed at Customer Service
and fly straight into Women’s Active Wear.
Once I came alone and jumped so high
I’d have cleared those Clearance DVDs.
But I landed hard in the bras,
crotched myself, thought I was going to die.
If I had, the greeting cards would mark my grave.

Sometimes, I think I’ll hide in a tent in Sporting Goods,
wait till way past closing, when even echoes leave,
and I hear only the heart hum of the floorwaxer.
And I’ll break into the Office, pull away the safe,
and shovel past the floor, past the concrete,
past the leaves, past the sleeping grass,
to the dark earth I remember
and find those love notes Jen and I wrote,
sealed in a shoebox and buried.

I’ve always wanted to take you here.
This place means a lot to me.