Beef! Need lots of beef!
Paper says Wednesday is day
for $2.99 a pound. After I eat beef
me watch hockey. Yes!
Predators play Wild—good stuff.
I pull up truck to open spot far away
from other vehicles—don’t like people
parking too close and denting doors.
Last time I find two new
dings. I scream and scare shoppers.
Usual stuff. I wear helmet so won’t
frighten people too much. Teeth do stick out a bit.
Don’t buy bullets
or kill anyone at Wal-Mart—just Target snobs.
Kidding. No one gets humor.
After shoving old plastic bags
into outside recycle bin, wipe cart down
with stinky wipes in tube. Cart
is too short, so use knuckles
to move it along. It’s Wednesday, not Friday
when everyone buys movies, cigarettes and beer.
And guns. I buy beef.
Ring butcher bell, and Charlie comes right away.
What wonderful service! And fills up cart.
Few ground chucks spill out and hit
feet. Ouch, I have tender feet like bananas.
Take cart to express line because
only one open. I shouldn’t, but clerk waves
me over anyway. Have more than 10 beef packages.
Tattooed lady in short skirt behind me is mad.
“Get out of the express line, you freak!”
Repeat her words back at her.
Very loud. She keeps talking at me.
Imitating her fun!
How I learn to speak like you weak humans.
“Get in another line! You can’t be in this one!”
She doesn’t like her words in this mouth.
Her heat register now very high.
Pointing finger. Take off helmet.
She leaves quickly. Runs.
Out of store leaving
her Greek yogurt and tampons.
Clerk says sorry, but still late to watch game.