At the Dairy Case

Fuck grocery store etiquette.

Tears for Fears tells me to shout, so I let it all out

in front of the dairy case while inspecting my perfection—

mourning after reflection—in the fingerprinted glass.

My cheeks are hollow

but my gut is bloated

from too much diet soda (I’m watching my figure) and vodka.

 

In front of the dairy case, blocking access to the skim milk,

I let it all out,

and I like the way

my pretty mouth contorts

into a beastly maw

when I cry.

 

© Kindra M. Austin