Writing In A Woman's Voice
Thursday, 12 December 2019
This month there is an additional Moon Prize. The forty-ninth
Jennifer Donnell's poem "Trader Joe's, on a Sunday."
s, on a Sunday
He was in the produce aisle and I was pi
cking out a cucumber,
biggest one, of course).
He had brown hair and muscles, the things I used to look for.
I could have stood there like product placement and hoped
we'd bump carts, then bond over a love
of organic berries and fancy trail m
Maybe I'd consent to a
n impromptu romp
and he'd drive me away in the grown-up blue sports car
(azure?) I saw him drive in on,
then I'd do him in the front seat
overlooking the Pacific,
Instead, I hightailed it over to the frozen food
to fish out our dinn
er, tacos with tartar sauce and shredded cabbage.
I came home, cooked and did the dishes… while you napped,
then woke, ate, and read our sons a classic about a wolf
dressed up in someone else's clothing.
Sometimes you're that wo
such big eyes.
When you think I'm not looking, I always am.
Do you ever stop to contemplate how they feel
as someone's mother, sister, daughter?
Do they see you with the kids and I
and wonder why you don't love us enough to look away.
Do they use it a
s a cautionary tale
about the kind of guy they don't want,
who fantasizes about fucking them as I hold his hand.
You say it's like nicotine, your best analogy as a non-smoker.
The kind of hit that is hard to live without and isn't it human nature,
I ponder our l
Will you check out the bridesmaid at our wedding?
What about the waitress at the cake table?
What about other women in bikinis on our honeymoon?
What about our son's girlfriends?
What about your next sexy coworker?
hat about when I'm 4
5 and they're 25.
What about nurses in our eventual nursing home?
How about yourself in the mirror?
He was in the produce aisle and I ignored him.
He went home to his wife and held and kissed her, grateful.
I went home and cried about
all the woman
you look at
during the three second rule.
* * * * *
"Trader Joe's, on a Sunday" was first posted on
Jennifer Donnell is a writer and poet from Southern California.
She loves being outside, dogs and people who spill the beans.
She tries to not to be one of those people who texts at dinner and isn’t sure how decaf coffee wakes her up.
Check out more of her writing by connecting with her on
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