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July 31, 2020 by Andrew Condouris in current poems

It is a thing I fill a-brim with lots of crap—

Organic and processed, fleshy and frosty.

Ice cream and hot sauce share a space.

As I toss my shit into the belly of the cage,

A hollow voice rattles off the specials

On the PA, a voice losing consciousness,

Talking to the ghosts amongst the pears.

I bop through the cereal aisle with grit

And verve, passing faces asking, “For whom

Will he descend into hell?” I suppose

I'm just in a good mood today. It happens

Sometimes.

When I get outside, the snowstorm

Has begun to sing and dance, so I

Abandon my cart near my car.

It's such a sad sight to see this vessel,

This womb that's fed me so well,

Left behind in the vicissitudes.

But then I think about how I am alive,

Waiting for mercy, waiting for time

To send me crawling back to the ocean,

Returning to the goo of variables.

Will I finally be able to say that God loves me,

Because I am not here?