An Ode To A Friend

Oh, Joe, what a splendid trader you are…

A pot roast…
A half chicken…
Stuffed pork chops…
Cheap wine…

Long, circular lighting tubes overhead.
Workers with Hawaiian shirts and leis.
Cartoon drawings adorning the walls.

The crowd is mostly women, fresh from work,
talking on wireless phones. Blouses and baskets,
bags of brussel sprouts. All frozen over…

My basket is empty, I stare down into refrigerated cold.
The surfer dude w/nametag: Tex says the gnocchi is good.
A quasi-edgy/Muzak/indie tune plays…
something non-offensive, mediocre — yet ‘cool’.

There are orchids by the door. Chocolate by the register.

Oh, Joe, what a splendid trader you are…
Get in my car and go, go, go.
Oh, Joe, what a splendid trader you are…

I buy the candy with the jelly inside.
I eat enchiladas with cheese inside.
I drink the wine with the mysteries
unfurled inside. It’s cold out tonight,
I’m at your door, will you please
let me inside?  (warm up by your firelight)

I load up on pasta, soups for a dollar.
A man passes out bite-sized scoops of mango.
I think it was mango. It could have been mango.
The aisles are nice and wide,
with tile made for tap dancing.

It’s a shame
I don’t have
my tap shoes
on.

Okay, now I recognize the tune.
It’s the Shins.
(That’s weird)

Dry Cereal…
Organic Yogurt…
Shredded Cheese…

Oh, Joe, what a splendid trader you are…
Get in my car and go, go, go.
Oh, Joe, what a splendid trader you are…

You’ll always be my Queen of Groceries.
I may stray for a day, but always return to she.
I remember one time I bought your juice.
It didn’t taste right and you replaced it quickly.
You earned my loyalty, through thick and thin.
I bought reusable bags, because I’m a good citizen.
I love to eat healthy food, here, take my money,
you’re my number one boo. Trader Joe’s, I love you.

Your parking lots are motherfuckers though!

EDITOR’S NOTE: I’m not sure what the heck this is but it is. Accept it for what it is in all its glorious full-frontal triviality, it’s astronomical nonsensical namboobism. I have.