Light Shopping

The cereal aisle is much too loud,
loud with the complaints of mistakes
the size of children, and the soft
humming of my indecision.
How am I to make responsible
decisions between sweet spheres
of corn, humble squares of wheat
or monotonous flecks of grain
spiced by the perfume of health?

I'm wasting an hour of my life-light.

I know that if I forego the milk,
which I often do, I am merely
eating popcorn for the elderly.

I'm not so prone to dying, darling.

I'm just a punk, considering cereals.

I'm a June bug baby, swaddled 

in fluorescences, stunned from the 

the enormous screen door loom,
weaving the worries of
that next huge world,
humming with a sticky apathy
only bugs are lucky to experience
for a whole lifetime.

My humming makes an organ
tremble in me, a deep plum sound
that one day will soften my
whole body to a walking bruise.
Then the decision comes easy.
Then I'll send someone for me,
fold their fingers around the
crumbling flake of my fortune,

tell them to buy me the best
health they make these days,
whatever damn shape it comes in.