08-24-2017, 05:26 AM
Third Edit:
Dollar Store Blues
She crosses that threshold,
sleepwalks
to the cleaning aisle,
where sponges construct an allegory.
She keeps going until she is distracted
by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky, so sweet, yet barely fulfilling
a need she'd rather deny exists.
Closing her eyes, allows fluorescent lights
to bathe her like a cold shower.
She stumbles to her purpose:
should they have beans or soup for supper?
The finger against her lip
smells of soap bought there a week ago,
her own odor forgettable as a midnight dream.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal
as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
another allegory she has no time for.
Second Edit:
Dollar Store Blues
Whenever she crosses that threshold,
she feels like she's sleepwalking.
In the cleaning aisle,
she swears she hears an allegory
about sponges and unwanted messes
until she is distracted by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky, so sweet, yet barely fulfilling
a need she'd rather deny exists.
She closes her eyes, allowing fluorescent lights
to bathe her like a cold shower.
She stumbles to the next aisle,
tries to forget her purpose:
Is she there to buy beans or soup?
She pretends the decision hasn't already been made
like her husband's bed.
Placing a finger against her lip,
she smells the soap she bought here a week ago.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
the dream ends.
First Edit:
Dollar Store Blues
Whenever she crosses that threshold,
she starts to feel like she's sleepwalking.
In the cleaning aisle,
she swears she hears an allegory
about sponges and unwanted messes
until she is distracted by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky and sweet, yet barely fulfilling a need
she'd rather deny exists.
She closes her eyes, allowing fluorescent lights
to bath her like a cold shower.
Eventually, she arrives at her purpose:
Is she there to buy beans or soup?
She pretends the decision hasn't already been made
like her husband's bed.
Placing a finger against her lip,
she smells the soap she bought here a week ago.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
the dream ends.
Original:
Dollar Store Blues
Crossing the threshold feels somnambulistic.
In the cleaning aisle,
she swears she sees an allegory
until she is distracted by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky and sweet, yet barely fulfilling a need
she'd rather deny exists.
She closes her eyes, allowing the fluorescent lights
to bath her like a cold shower.
Eventually, she arrives at her purpose:
Is she there to buy beans or soup?
She pretends the decision hasn't already been made
like he husband's bed.
Placing a finger against her lip,
she smells the soap she bought here a week ago.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
the dream ends.
Dollar Store Blues
She crosses that threshold,
sleepwalks
to the cleaning aisle,
where sponges construct an allegory.
She keeps going until she is distracted
by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky, so sweet, yet barely fulfilling
a need she'd rather deny exists.
Closing her eyes, allows fluorescent lights
to bathe her like a cold shower.
She stumbles to her purpose:
should they have beans or soup for supper?
The finger against her lip
smells of soap bought there a week ago,
her own odor forgettable as a midnight dream.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal
as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
another allegory she has no time for.
Second Edit:
Dollar Store Blues
Whenever she crosses that threshold,
she feels like she's sleepwalking.
In the cleaning aisle,
she swears she hears an allegory
about sponges and unwanted messes
until she is distracted by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky, so sweet, yet barely fulfilling
a need she'd rather deny exists.
She closes her eyes, allowing fluorescent lights
to bathe her like a cold shower.
She stumbles to the next aisle,
tries to forget her purpose:
Is she there to buy beans or soup?
She pretends the decision hasn't already been made
like her husband's bed.
Placing a finger against her lip,
she smells the soap she bought here a week ago.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
the dream ends.
First Edit:
Dollar Store Blues
Whenever she crosses that threshold,
she starts to feel like she's sleepwalking.
In the cleaning aisle,
she swears she hears an allegory
about sponges and unwanted messes
until she is distracted by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky and sweet, yet barely fulfilling a need
she'd rather deny exists.
She closes her eyes, allowing fluorescent lights
to bath her like a cold shower.
Eventually, she arrives at her purpose:
Is she there to buy beans or soup?
She pretends the decision hasn't already been made
like her husband's bed.
Placing a finger against her lip,
she smells the soap she bought here a week ago.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
the dream ends.
Original:
Dollar Store Blues
Crossing the threshold feels somnambulistic.
In the cleaning aisle,
she swears she sees an allegory
until she is distracted by a sale for expired taffy;
so sticky and sweet, yet barely fulfilling a need
she'd rather deny exists.
She closes her eyes, allowing the fluorescent lights
to bath her like a cold shower.
Eventually, she arrives at her purpose:
Is she there to buy beans or soup?
She pretends the decision hasn't already been made
like he husband's bed.
Placing a finger against her lip,
she smells the soap she bought here a week ago.
Mechanically, she reaches for a can
and it sticks to her palm like a magnet.
Her hands smell of cheap metal as she approaches to pay.
The cashier smiles androgynously.
The cash register speaks,
the dream ends.
Time is the best editor.