Public Address

The cashier left the button down

and let my question bleed across the floor,

bouncing off the frozen peas

and the heavy sliding door.

I thought I lived in the chest,

a low and steady hum I’ve come to trust,

but out of the ceiling speaker

came a sound like grinding dust.

A stranger’s pitch, thin and high,

asking the price of a gallon of bleach.

I stood there in the bread aisle

with my own self out of reach.