Outside the K-1
the worker exits the store
he is feeling so sore
he’s heading for his pickup’s door
he says to himself he can’t walk any more
in his black bag,
so it’s starting to sag
is a bottle of beer
that leans almost clear
held by one handle
a foot in a sandle
that walks from the door
he is feeling so sore
and puts it in the seat
a significant feat
what with the trash
and the abundance of ash
and the pile of plans
and the mountain of cans
and then off he goes
through parking lot groves
and pavement tahitis
with palm tree graffitis
and permitted zones
among holders of phones
with nice courts of cones
and advertisements for loans
and the pools of construction
amid spools for conduction
until finally he’ll sit
and open what’s in it
and not think of the day
or what it may say,
but sigh with relief
that it was brief.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 