I’m standing in the supermarket again, reaching in my pocket
for the list I wrote out on the breakfast counter at home.
I dig deeper, my fingers attempting a journey to China,
only to find in my mind’s eye that the list still sits
on my breakfast counter, waiting for me like a tooth
under a pillow the fairy left last night instead of a dime.
So now it’s total recall time, wandering up and down every aisle,
some several times, picking up things that were possibly needed,
and, inevitably, those that weren’t, my stockpile of microwave popcorn
stacking up in quantities sufficient to see me through
every blessed Marvel movie to come until my death.
This buying of the unnecessary items I’ll discover
once I return home, when I peep warily at the pristine list,
fearing how I’ll slap my forehead so hard for my stupidity
that I further damage the part of the brain we use
to remember shopping lists when we head to the supermarket.