Breaking up at Whole Foods

was certainly nothing
I’d have dreamed — me
stuck with the cloves,
you still counting sprigs

of rosemary like grains
of un-premeasured rice.
Every mustard was too hot
to your taste. You wept

at the sight of leek-eaters,
chided the Siberian garlic
chives (likely as not to leave
you onion-eyed). Soured on

Concord grapes, you gagged
on the smell of lavender
and fennel, garlands of bay
wafting too near the honey-

dew, so many out-of-season
cherries bursting like fire-
works between your thumbs.
So what that you didn’t call

Dole Chiquita Bonita bananas
cheap, over-ripened plantains
in designer labels. Would you
have tried almond-rice milk?

That last aisle was the last
straw. There you were, alone
at the olive bar, me checking
out with one spicy vegan pizza.

— Maureen Doallas, author of Neruda’s Memoirs

Visit me at: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorD.B.Mauldin/

 

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