early birds
it is morning now, at least
according to the schedule roughly
tacked behind the service desk
seven birds nesting in the half-lit
letters K and O peer down as if
measuring me for something
inside, they are changing the price
tags so that I can’t tell if I am coming
or going let alone count the cost
in the bakery I ask if they have
garlic bread yet and Ava who is old
enough to be my mother yells at me
that I should make it myself but I just grin
and yell back that the night shift are a bunch
of slackers and suddenly we are friends
the only cart I can find keeps shocking
me but the checkout girl just shrugs
and says yeah some of them do that
at five a.m. this store is a wilderness,
fluid and fierce and fresh, and how I
love to scratch among these early birds
a little word picture to share with friends over at the dVerse Poet’s Pub.
Penguin Poems 