GROCERY SHOPPING WITH MY WIFE

ON A WINDY JANUARY DAY

by Mary K O'Melveny

First, we scanned chilled blue skies

for signs of comfort as

we dressed up in layers

to venture out where trees

are bent over like old

chess players huddled at

a park square deep in thought. 

Our trip for groceries

turned glacial – we could have

been on Shackleton’s team –

each with duties, routines

to keep our focus, shift

our luck. I will find us

lettuce, butter, cereal.

She will search for paper

goods, cleaning products. Our

supermarket’s aisles are swelled. 

Who knows if it is King’s

birthday or Trump’s furlough

that finds us all here, carts

filling with chicken soups,

instant cocoa and whipped cream.

It feels as though we might

find some comfort here that

eludes us elsewhere. As

if din of commerce might

obscure our deeper fears

that our capacities

for survival were merely

temporary; that, like

the Endurance, we might

weaken or falter against

pack ice and shifting gales. 

And so we add chocolate

cookies. And a Merlot.