By the time
He finally came out of,
What he, affectionately,
Called his “Cave”....
(Detestingly,
I called it
His “Lair”).
The eggshells
On the floor,
Had been pulverized,
From the light treading,
We had all done
For the last week.
SLAM! Goes the screen door behind me....
Sweating in the sultry, southern sun.
Asphalt shimmering....
Hog shit sprayed to succor
The soy bean crops.....
Simmering down...
Walking...
On that narrow county road.
A redneck
LEERING
From his pickup.
He is slowing.....
“Can I give you a ride Missy?”
I smile,
Not wanting to appear weak,
“No thanks”
Leering,
In the mirror now.
Yellow running lights.
Cumulo Nimbus......
I Walk a little faster,
To beat...
The rain?
My heart?
The wind
Lifts my skirt.
I hold it down.....
Not weak...
Panting, reaching
The Piggly Wiggly, just in time.
It is wretched;
Broken tile,
Grimy black grout,
Old metal shelves,
Noisy coolers....
Wandering.....
Produce pinching.....
Break open the back
Of the bacon.
Check the lean.
Hot dogs...
Bologna....
White corneas,
In black eyes;
The bodiless head
Of a pig.
Packaged neatly,
In plastic and styrofoam.
Labeled clearly for sale.
Snarl of teeth,
Standard snout;
Richard's face,
Sneering at me.
He is
Nonchalant;
Unaware of hours.....
stretching
Into days....
The basket
Will be fine there
On the floor.....
If I walk quietly
No one will notice me......
I slip
Through the automatic doors,
Into the raging storm....
I press into
The ice machine.
I startle,
When lightning strikes,
In the cotton field
Across the street.
The mist,
Under the overhang,
Wets my hair.
Overflows my brow,
In rivulets
Down my face.
They join the ocean,
Pouring down my cheeks.
The dry,
Clogged,
Fetid, ditches,
Flood with the torrent;
My snot,
My fear,
My anger.....
My sobs
Drop off
The lush vegetation....
The steam from them,
Rises from the oil slick,
On the puddle
That I bend over.....
Spitting on my feet,
Retching out
My loneliness....
The sky rumbles a validation.
I wipe my face
On my blouse.
Making it dryer;
But me wetter.
By the time
I tread
Through the automatic doors
Again,
And pluck my basket
From the startled stock boys’ grip.
He is grumbling
In tune with the sky.
Shuffling the marooned articles
Back onto the shelves.
The sun
Is peeking
Through the magnolias.
I smile...
“Thank You, I’ll take that.”
Author notes
I lived in Pikeville, NC for two years....and saw exactly that pig head, packaged for sale....It is the first thing that comes to mind when I think about the Piggly Wiggly....That, and LEERING rednecks.....and daily thunderstorms......and the smell of hog shit, liquefied, and sprayed into the air, in a 300 ft arch....
As deep as you want to go.......
Comments
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YES!
Finally, someone else who knows that wretched smell! I was born in Jackson Tennessee, so, I can tell you all about leering rednecks and daily thunderstorms. I've had my fair share of breakdowns in unusual places. Try K-Mart..sometimes they give you free tissue if you just sit down in the toothpaste isle.
Overall, I loved it. It flows, it fits.
You're my hero
xoxox
-Melissa
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Hi, algoressister. This food-shopping-horror poem hit me hard all over the place: the helterskelter of meats and steam and smells and picking up stuff to eat while fending off all those fat-assed carts and people - all of it is a weekly nightmare for me too. And then, your poem centers on that pig's head and arcing shit - it's all a delightful and terrifying trip to the grocery. Great poem, loaded with stark and vivid images, like I was in that hole, shopping with you.
North Carolina? Nascar country? Redneck country? Hee-haw land? I'm glad you survived it. I tore up my passport to that strange and foreign land years ago! And your poem brought it all back in great style. Really enjoyable, although a horror for you.
Good poem, full of piss and vinegar, and strongly structured and imaged. Welcome to the site.
Lad -
I thought this was awesome
and the imagery was killer. And the bit in the notes about hogshit was a touch of beauty. This was very good, very kicking, and straight-up rich writing. I don't know what it all means any more than a rich recollection of barfing after seeing a pigs head, but I really enjoyed this. I could see it all and it was righteous....
Al
p.s. Tell me...it seems there is some veiled meaning in all of this, or am I just reading to deep? Or is this after all just about a pinched-off porky pig puss prompting a puking? Anyway, I enjoyed this. And hey...my name is Al, but you're not my sister. Is Al Gore really your brother? And if so, is he the real Al Gore? And if so, did he really wise up and become a Republican?
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Als
Hi,
I have a panic disorder....A trigger could overwhelm me, Such as the memory of abuse.....This scenario is a possibility.... It is common for grocery stores to elicit an attack...I am not sure why, but there are specific strategies for grocery stores.... I am compiling this and other related poems, hopefully, for publishing as validation for others with this challenge.....
Anyway, a thunderstorm is a good analogy to the rollercoaster of feelings involved....
I have been unsure if my transitions back and forth, are readable......
I have a brother named Al Gore, He IS a republican, but his new girlfriend is showing him some new light....He is a builder, and has a detail oriented personality, while she is kinda "fuzzy around the edges"....I like the synergy......
Thanks for reading my poem, I have to go fetch my laundry from the dryers.....ttfn
Laurel
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