Word Soup (Scratch Pad)

the second the halogen lighting hits my eyes
and I hear the hiss of those sliding doors
my balls retract
and I feel like a vampire
thirty seconds after taking a shit in god's foyer

That's somebody's grandmother there
in a red-monkey vest
chirping and maniacally grinning
like a Disney-ride automaton.
Somebody's grandfather
offering me reconstituted chicken on toothpick

Women and men five times my weight
like oversized weeble-wobbles
no legs, just bobbing momentum
the kinesthetic awareness of tapioca
eyes glazed with bargain lust
heads full of checklists, stress, and not much else
bobbing, roaming, aisle to aisle

I'm here meanwhile to express my deepest emotional gratitude
to the people I love
to the people I've stumbled through existence with
to the people who've aided, guided, and nurtured me

by purchasing limited edition dishware

I clutch a list that tells me
what existential holes need filling

My uncle will be so pleased
my love this year takes the form of non-stick muffin pans

There's a little fat boy here
with a candy-cane in his mouth and a 72 oz. soda in his fist
his mother yells at him for fidgeting