I Died at Walmart Today
Open palmed, the Walmart cashier
waits for my $7.75: Bath gel,
Q tips and breath mints.
Next in line, an old crow
in widow's weeds complains
about the price of Fixodent.
Back home, stiff laundry waits to be segregated
into piles of whites and colors. The living
room alive with dust mites,
resurrected cells, waits
to be exhumed and vacuumed. My bills
breathing on the kitchen table
wait for me to feed them. At Walmart,
The Four Tops sing Reach Out and I'll
Be There but I hear an angel choir.
The EMTs note the time
at checkout. 10:21am. Dead
at Walmart, not Bloomingdale's.
As shameful as a vegetarian
caught eating an animal. Will they
leave an empty chair for me
at poetry tonight? Publish
and perish, burn not bury. Will
my sister take in my cat
and our mother?
Ring around the coronary.
Near the fire pits at register 7,
I expire. What will happen to my car?
Vicki Iorio is the author of the poetry collection, Poems from the Dirty Couch, Local Gems Press, 2013and the chapbook, Send me a Letter, dancinggirlpress. You can read Iorio's work in Hell strung and Crooked, I Let Go of the Stars, (Great Weather for Media), The Brownstone Poets Anthology, The San Pedro Review, The Mom Egg, Crack the Spine, The Painted Bride Quarterly, RatsAss Review, New York Times, blog site, Poetry Super Highway.