What’s Left in the Cooler
The radio plays over the speakers
sometimes at the local supermarket.
Music narrating our frozen green beans,
canned tuna, 100% whole wheat bread,
as if a song can make us forget
too many crave nutrients, more than love.
The way some of us clog up the aisle
reminds me of a hunger,
but not for a lover’s lips;
that is left to movie stars,
who probably pay someone else
to buy their groceries.
Then there’s the poets, who make
their lists into poems about what’s left
in the cooler next to the ice cream
and how there was already silence
long before anyone turned off the radio.