Poem 15: 24 Hour Store

Let me tell you about the letter that flickers
and the letter that's out, on the sign tonight
at the 24-hour grocery on the north end of town
inside, all those lonely aisles, those cans of beans
the bagger's brief smile and the man
holding a scratch ticket, but out here
the light of the red letters beckons over the parking lot
the trees are cold, all the carts are listening
in their little pens, touching, resting against the bars
like a drunk man trying to regain his balance.
Oh, it is quiet, but the lights are lovely; let's take
a drive. All down High Street, past the yellow flashing light
past the darkened fitness center and the car wash
past the hospital and the group homes
here we are, here we are: it's our turn.