Baskets made of
And welded wire,
In patterns of checkered lattice,
No pieces stacked…two high.
Forming holes large just enough for the cart to breathe,
Forming gills for the shopping cart.
Allowing the cart to focus on aerodynamics.
Allowing the cart to breath underwater.
But small enough so that the purchased groceries can’t escape.
Only crumbled shopping lists and
Ancient receipts are capable of this.
For some children this is a sailboat.
Coming in multitudes of color and arrays of different
(Varying only in the seminal category of magnitude )
Functionality makes up one third of their existence,
Maintenance and companionship make up the other two pieces,
To this pie chart that exists in a place that frequently sells pies.
(Among other infinite pastries)
These are quintessential qualities to
Their central condition.
Trapped in prisons built entirely of
Burning brick and
Cooled only by the breath of the frozen food aisle.
They are herded like cattle at the end of each day,
A time honored practice,
In a place governed by time-clocks.
The carts will try and put their foot down,
To stay out of the rusty corrals,
Located in the middle of the sweaty parking lots,
Trying to desperately skid to a stop.
As they are are pushed
Closer and closer towards extinction.
But some of the wheels barely touch the ground,
Some of these same unfortunate wheels,
Who long ago lost both their bearings
And their sense of direction.
Faster though than any propeller is capable of revolving.
Faster though than any chambered bullet.
Faster than the inevitable trajectory of umbrellas snatched up,
During a tornado.
And then left to trickle back down to earth like
Gathered in groups around
The warmth of the red stop signs,
Trying to avoid
The employees who wear their good sneakers in the rain.
Staying closest to the side with the garden section,
Clinging to the side that has the most life.