In zircon-studded pink sunglasses
spits her displeasure
through a wad of Double-Bubble
(diva of the dime store).
She has already completed a:
run of profanity,
race against mortality.
her sprinting, a salve
each footstep, a pounding
each paper bag, a promising.
Sweets rolled off-the-shelf
this comfort, compulsive and true
(hints of love)
for collected bits of buying
stuff that lonely well inside herself.
sssh . . .
She returns home
(in plastic & paper trappings)
its crinkle sounds are music
to her, crazed with cupidity.
The acquired sits in heaps, like herself
buried in wads of fabric and falsities
the top of her teased hair barely outstretches
her miserable spent haul
waiting to be sorted.
First – flypaper, Clorox, and Chinette at the bottom
chocolates and imported teas follow households.
Next – Peruvian almonds, if in-season
a Walmart party mix, if not
beddings from Bon-Ton
silks from Saks.
She moves worthless from wrappings
with steadiness, like a pall bearer
stops to admire this pyre, then tops it
with that irresistible
Nearly sated, she whimpers in exhaustion
pulls crumpled sales flyers from her purse
tosses last coupons on the pile
then flicks and lavishly sets fire to it all