Victims

Her groceries lie strewn along the motorized length of the cashier’s conveyor: Canada Dry staggered Habitat 67 style; cans of tomato paste – upright, fallen, rolling; boxes tumbling over each other in their frenzy to escape; an itinerant banana. They lie there. Broken. Defeated. Victims of a high-speed collision on the checkout aisle.

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To an IKEA Light

The only sound is a high-pitched hum from just above my ear, from the fluorescent bulb sheathed in IKEA-white plastic. I wiggle my jaw tentatively. Bones shift and clunk and make their own music as they lodge into place again. I like the night. The silence. The stillness. The freedom from the over-stimulating light of day.

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