the aisle that won't stay still

Shelf at eye level. I reach.

The box comes down easy.

Then the hum—high-pitched, from the lights,

and the whole aisle leans.

Just leans.

I watch the barcode blur and clear.

Blur. Clear. Blur.

My hand knows the weight of the box is real.

My eyes know the floor is not where it was.

A woman squeezes past me.

She doesn't brace herself.

She doesn't feel it.

I check out anyway.

Pay the register.

Get to the car.

Close my eyes at a red light three days later

and the aisle is still tilting,

still humming,

the barcode still

sharp then soft then sharp.