The cart hit my ankle three times

The cart hit my ankle three times

while I stood in the cereal aisle.

The fluorescent light feels like crimes

against the way I try to smile.

Now I’m in the driver’s seat

waiting for the ringing to quit.

The center of my palm is heat,

an itch where the nerves have split.

My teeth are humming a flat, gray note

that vibrates up into my skull.

I can’t quite swallow the salt in my throat

and the world is becoming a dull,

heavy weight that I can’t move.