Shopping Ll Poem by Morgan Michaels

Shopping Ll



smeared on like collodian
sealing the flanks of each,
and etched with a hound's tooth lattice.
'I thought Bronzino was a painter', I remarked,
studying the frayed tails,

looking like jaded brushes,
just rinsed, sick of their task.
'Why, I think you're right', murmured Grace, her eye
traveling one's side to its pointy snout, then: 'fish
don't have noses, do they? Or do they'?

On, not pausing for reply, she went on:
'Look at those (lateral) fins-
kin to flying fishes they are- don't you think'?
'I dunno', I said, unsure if the creatures hailed
from water fresh, brackish or salt.

'Please, we are farm-raised', lip-synched the biggest,
and watching us through a jellied eye- 'wha'd'ya think'?
Grace and I stood straight up, shocked-
since there was a wee placard there,
stuck, bleeding in the ice.

'Did you hear that'? Our looks fused.
'Hear what'? I said, playing mucho dumb.
'Let's get out of here', she said, seizing my arm,
and, aiming the cart toward the bread, we hurried on,
pretending the whole thing never happened.

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