supermarket tough guys
his cart
is practically up our asses
he’s angry, obviously
for having to grocery shop
or whatever white, male malaise
has caught his eye that day
maybe his sports team lost
he clearly wants to run over us
though we are no meanderers
when he passes us, my wife says
run up my ass, why don’t you
he stops and turns around
with a practiced clint eastwood glare
the kind that used to scare his wife or his kids
he says, did you call me an ass?
my wife says, no, i was talking to my husband
she points to me
so, of course, i have say,
and even if she did call you an ass
there’s not a goddamned thing you can do about it
he doesn’t seem to like that
starts ranting and raving at us
until my wife says, why don’t you calm the fuck down
his eyes bug out
like no woman
in the history of his white, male reign on earth
has ever told him to calm down before
he takes a step forward
so i do the same
almost nose to nose in the fresh meat aisle
as people around us pick pork chops
and plan their evening meals
supermarket tough guys on a monday morning
middle aged men
doin’ the toxic masculinity rag
i tell him why don’t we take this outside
though i don’t think
i’ve ever told anyone
to take something outside
it seems funny to me to even say it
he glares at me a moment, contemplating
then he says,
as soon as i finish my grocery shopping, pal
storms away with his cart
full of red meat
and potato chips
while i stand there
chest puffed and fists clinched
heart beating a mile a minute
until my wife snaps me out of it
and says to me
now, where in the hell in this place
do they keep
the goddamned chicken?
Horror Sleaze Trash 