grocery shopping with erin: in three movements
grocery shopping with erin
In three movements
ALLEGRO
Sunday evening, almost Monday morning
In Los Angeles, featuring a rare but welcome rain.
Traffic lights blur in the cool blush of sky tears.
I am on my way home from work, driving along in my Jetta with a check in my wallet, and, regrettably, the knowledge of an empty refrigerator,
an empty pantry,
an empty cupboard,
and an empty stomach…
With delicate counterpoint, I weave out of traffic and into the Ralph’s parking lot on La Brea. Eyeing the other cars in the lot, I spy no drug dealers,
no window smashers,
no hubcap grabbers
(*that I can tell.)
Andiamo, then, into the Ralph’s on La Brea,
into the toxic fluorescent mash-up
of late night nurses picking up cereal
and last call drinkers pulling out pizzas-
(it’s not delivery…)
Who is the DJ in this grocery store at this time of night? And by what prejudice did he decide that we, the late night grocery shoppers, deserved such a woeful listening fate? Just because I’m here at only ever odd hours… well, I think that means I fortissimo deserve good music to listen to… Perhaps I like the lack of long lines when checking out… or meeting the new trainees receiving the least desirable shifts… whomever you are, and you know who you are, it’s time to Come To Jesus on this mix.
And yes, I heard the guy with his Polo shirt tucked into his running shorts singing along.
I believe that is all testimony we need….
ANDANTE
Every time, it is the same story between me and the groceries.
Confronted with actual food for sale,
I seem to forget entirely what it is I actually eat.
I wander endlessly through the aisles, stopping to stare at the things I
* might *
put into lingering combinations over the stove
with the sweet harmony of flavors headed
directly for my lips…
But, no, I have no clue what I eat, once I am staring all this foodstuff in the eye.
Apples? Plums? Do I dare to eat a peach?
Rice cakes. Yes. Rice cakes, one for each… I….. Wait. Rice cakes? Or… was it Wasa bread? Oh, I don’t know, so instead, I shall stare at the Pop Tarts, but I know that if I take home fake food, I will eat fake food. I had better pick up a carton of oatmeal instead.
I know I don’t really “do” dairy, so ice cream is out, but that never stops me from picking up a pint, walking to the next aisle, and then turning and returning to place Ben and Jerry’s back on the shelf.
Meanwhile, two stoney boys with their pants slung low have passed me by three times now, and I know that during the next pass they will try to catch my eye. I’m not sure I want this recapitulation, as I miss that one note where the composer shifted it from sharp to natural. Always just a half a step ahead of myself, and yet never quite inside the groove, we’ll play it out again… I guess… or not, as I feign deep interest in Boboli pizza crusts and thank god I had put away that Ben and Jerry’s five minutes ago….
RONDO
A race to the check out then,
I see the girls in miniskirts and big earrings eyeing my basket
as I eye their champagne and potato chips.
who shall make it first?
None of us. We were all eclipsed by the old lady with a can of cat food.
Waiting to be warmly met,
I should still be waiting yet,
were it not for magazines that let
me indulge in a trashy fete…
And here we are now, Ralph’s Club Card, please!
And cash, down to the penny, but ten dollars I’ll need,
So, debit or credit, whate’er you prefer,
Paper or plastic, damn! I left my cloth bag in the car.
…
And now I here I am at my little Spanish style fourplex,
pulling into the long driveway,
Singing along with the music at the top of my lungs,
Shoving dried cantaloupe in my mouth.
Managing all five bags and a purse in one arm
with my keys at the ready in the other,
Home!
And I put away the groceries only to discover that
I already had lettuce, and carrots,
And I really should have tossed this guacamole out a long time ago,
And I have literally three jars of raspberry jam and still no bread for toast.
My roommate, however, appears to have bought chocolate covered caramels and
Honey sesame almonds at Trader Joe’s.
I’m sure she won’t mind if I borrow a bite….
After all, she has full access to all my groceries.
Mi miso es su miso.
And finally, as I tenderly put away a duplicate container of oats (seriously)
I notice she has bought those sweet terrors of fake food-
all hail
the forbidden fruits.
Behold:
poptarts
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens the silver foil packaging; only something in me understands
the voice of sprinkles and frosting is deeper than all whole grains)
nobody, not even the rain, has such sticky hands
…………….
I needed the energy to practice?
D.S. Al fine.
In three movements
ALLEGRO
Sunday evening, almost Monday morning
In Los Angeles, featuring a rare but welcome rain.
Traffic lights blur in the cool blush of sky tears.
I am on my way home from work, driving along in my Jetta with a check in my wallet, and, regrettably, the knowledge of an empty refrigerator,
an empty pantry,
an empty cupboard,
and an empty stomach…
With delicate counterpoint, I weave out of traffic and into the Ralph’s parking lot on La Brea. Eyeing the other cars in the lot, I spy no drug dealers,
no window smashers,
no hubcap grabbers
(*that I can tell.)
Andiamo, then, into the Ralph’s on La Brea,
into the toxic fluorescent mash-up
of late night nurses picking up cereal
and last call drinkers pulling out pizzas-
(it’s not delivery…)
Who is the DJ in this grocery store at this time of night? And by what prejudice did he decide that we, the late night grocery shoppers, deserved such a woeful listening fate? Just because I’m here at only ever odd hours… well, I think that means I fortissimo deserve good music to listen to… Perhaps I like the lack of long lines when checking out… or meeting the new trainees receiving the least desirable shifts… whomever you are, and you know who you are, it’s time to Come To Jesus on this mix.
And yes, I heard the guy with his Polo shirt tucked into his running shorts singing along.
I believe that is all testimony we need….
ANDANTE
Every time, it is the same story between me and the groceries.
Confronted with actual food for sale,
I seem to forget entirely what it is I actually eat.
I wander endlessly through the aisles, stopping to stare at the things I
* might *
put into lingering combinations over the stove
with the sweet harmony of flavors headed
directly for my lips…
But, no, I have no clue what I eat, once I am staring all this foodstuff in the eye.
Apples? Plums? Do I dare to eat a peach?
Rice cakes. Yes. Rice cakes, one for each… I….. Wait. Rice cakes? Or… was it Wasa bread? Oh, I don’t know, so instead, I shall stare at the Pop Tarts, but I know that if I take home fake food, I will eat fake food. I had better pick up a carton of oatmeal instead.
I know I don’t really “do” dairy, so ice cream is out, but that never stops me from picking up a pint, walking to the next aisle, and then turning and returning to place Ben and Jerry’s back on the shelf.
Meanwhile, two stoney boys with their pants slung low have passed me by three times now, and I know that during the next pass they will try to catch my eye. I’m not sure I want this recapitulation, as I miss that one note where the composer shifted it from sharp to natural. Always just a half a step ahead of myself, and yet never quite inside the groove, we’ll play it out again… I guess… or not, as I feign deep interest in Boboli pizza crusts and thank god I had put away that Ben and Jerry’s five minutes ago….
RONDO
A race to the check out then,
I see the girls in miniskirts and big earrings eyeing my basket
as I eye their champagne and potato chips.
who shall make it first?
None of us. We were all eclipsed by the old lady with a can of cat food.
Waiting to be warmly met,
I should still be waiting yet,
were it not for magazines that let
me indulge in a trashy fete…
And here we are now, Ralph’s Club Card, please!
And cash, down to the penny, but ten dollars I’ll need,
So, debit or credit, whate’er you prefer,
Paper or plastic, damn! I left my cloth bag in the car.
…
And now I here I am at my little Spanish style fourplex,
pulling into the long driveway,
Singing along with the music at the top of my lungs,
Shoving dried cantaloupe in my mouth.
Managing all five bags and a purse in one arm
with my keys at the ready in the other,
Home!
And I put away the groceries only to discover that
I already had lettuce, and carrots,
And I really should have tossed this guacamole out a long time ago,
And I have literally three jars of raspberry jam and still no bread for toast.
My roommate, however, appears to have bought chocolate covered caramels and
Honey sesame almonds at Trader Joe’s.
I’m sure she won’t mind if I borrow a bite….
After all, she has full access to all my groceries.
Mi miso es su miso.
And finally, as I tenderly put away a duplicate container of oats (seriously)
I notice she has bought those sweet terrors of fake food-
all hail
the forbidden fruits.
Behold:
poptarts
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens the silver foil packaging; only something in me understands
the voice of sprinkles and frosting is deeper than all whole grains)
nobody, not even the rain, has such sticky hands
…………….
I needed the energy to practice?
D.S. Al fine.
