Aisle Spin

The fluorescent hum

pressed down, a flat buzz

against the skull. Cereal boxes,

a wall of them,

all the same bright lie.

My eyes couldn't grab a thing.

The floor, I swear,

tilted. Just a bit.

My cart, loaded with nothing

I truly wanted, felt heavy,

like it might drag me down.

Too much. Too many labels.

What's the difference, really?

Just stand there,

pretending to read the fine print

on a soup can

until the sway stops.