It's Saturday, and the parking lot
at Aldi is full of people rushing in
to buy trays of eggs. The sign says
Limit 2 per customer. The world is changing
so fast. The world is almost unrecognizable.
It's become a blur, with patches of burn
and ruin. And yet we crave pancakes and
omelettes, ramen with pickled mushrooms.
A boiled potato, a glass of milk. At the end
of the road near the river, flocks of geese
congregate. Who knows if the wind carries
particles of scat laced with the bird
flu virus? To live in this kind of time,
we remind each other: we are not yet dead.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
