While you’re in the big box store
and I’m parking the pickup
the business goes out of business.
I enter and find gnomes and trolls
bagging merchandise that now
belongs to carnivorous hedge funds.
I can’t find you, so ask a pert
and perky garden gnome sporting
a red dunce cap. Yes, he saw you
go off with a dim husky man.
He hands me a list of convicted
sex criminals. “One of them,”
he claims. Dust and ruin creep
from storerooms to clog the aisles.
The lights fail. Emergency
exit signs blink. I exit
and wonder how your new life
is going. Maybe you snatched
a red dunce cap while escaping
the ordinary suburban world.
I hope you’re wearing it proudly,
your new lover grinning like thunder
as he adjusts it on your head.
William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Cloud Mountain (2024). His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in many journals.
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