In Aisle 5, I Thought About How Poem by Ben Partenay

I like my books dog eared
sentences crossed out and underlined
I like covers of books that are scratched
and washed and spilled on
coffee rings circling paragraphs
like blurred pictures of Saturn
you were
like a torn out page, saved
inside another
book I never read

where did you go
at the store, wandering
aisles, passing canned soup,
bags of rice, barbecue sauce
and packaged meat leaking
blood onto the white shelves
I thought I saw you picking
fresh cilantro, squeezing limes
and smelling peppers but it
was a doppelganger or
someone dressed just like you

it wasn't you though, I knew
that, I knew that and I still
called your name
I knew that and I still
asked if we were making
fresh salsa tonight

where is it you went
and will you take me