Traffic Jam through Condiment County

[LorettaYoung]

I lock eyes with the roadblock
as my trolley locks its wheels.

He's sticky and salty, loud and red and
weeping on the floor between me and the cornflakes.

So I retreat, but not before
we click - not before
I give that secret handshake of a nod
that comes with being kids together in an adult world -

not before I realise that he's the one bound
by the finitude of language.

He looks back to his mother
and gives her another inadequate look
called “I hate the hypocrisy
exhibited in our household,"

called "I'm filing for emancipation
soon as I'm literate,"

called “Sure, yoghurt’s tasty,
but so is this Nutella.”

A total newbie reply; like it; but feel disconnected by the change and length of some lines.