After the Bells

The overhead hum

grows louder now.

The last announcement

does not quite bow

out gracefully.

It’s almost closing.

The aisles stretch long.

Fluorescent light

makes everything wrong.

Too bright for this quiet.

Only a few of us left,

stalking the dairy aisle.

A single carton of milk,

expired, sits there

with a silent, knowing smile.

And from the back,

a distant clatter starts.

The clean-up crew,

taking apart

the day.

I’m not ready to leave.