Groceries

 

by C. Brannon Watts

 

 

 

 

tire s pun cork you

                      know                   o         dash

 

weathered brick __ your plastic bag

 

         eat simply mean               and        irons

 

brace the cloud with                  bananas         banana                  a

                         querulous screw ties the mist

 

warts and all war         ant

columns of porn                        rave

 

groceries

 

 

 

in the corner an angel poses a question: have you seen my bread. two shoppers collide with a priceless figurine the figurine wins and the spare (replacement) gospel choir raises an allelu for the souls saved from future generations, one fifteen-year-old pretty with braces and a high-top fade declares by proxy for Peter and flings embarrassing flecks of that spirit into the ventilation system; outside sad men huddle over their new technology with wrinkled skin cracked suits and too-shiny shoes debating broken iterations sad philosophies canine diets the size of their daughters’ shoes the impossibility of equilibrium in a wedding band. the rain.

 

 

 

tired puns York

                  nod                            a         wash

 

breathe red __ play bowers, astic

 

         meats imply                      dire     airs

 

clod white traces                       anna’s banal                   ana

                         trite miscreant worls

 

trawl and saw                  rant

plums for nor                            raven

 

groceries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

C. Brannon Watts is a poet and educator living in Rockford, Illinois.  He believes that poetry should remain open to interpretation and routinely burns greeting cards wherever he finds them in the wild.  His publication credits include work in Ygdrasil, Clutching at Straws, Greatest Lakes Review, Metazen, Durable Goods and Thrice Fiction.  His ebook, Bowl of Light, is available from Argotist Ebooks.