To the Acquaintance Hell-bent on Social Niceties
It happened just the other day in the cereal aisle. Our
carts sideswiped like a dry kiss from a septuagenarian
aunt you’ve only just met. Our eyes locked. A flicker
of recognition flashed between us. I glanced away and
mumbled something orbiting a weak apology. Is it you?
How have you been? you asked. I let out a sigh. No, I’m
afraid not. It isn’t me. Your head cocked to the side
as a deep rustling surrounded us. The fluorescent
lighting seemed to surge and blind. A cascade of cereal
boxes began tumbling one by one off the shelves
around us like a riffle of cards. Buffeted by Cheeriosand Life, I lost consciousness briefly and dreamed
of my life as a chameleon. I was almost unseen.
I was almost always there. When I awoke,
I built a fort with the cauliflower and
canned mandarins salvaged from my crumpled cart.
It might take years for you to find me.
C. M. Donahue holds a BFA in Poetry from Emerson College and an MA in Curriculum and Instruction from the University of Connecticut.