I get in my car
To drive to Target, but no!
I have ripped my pants.
Goodbye, distressed jeans!
Your Boyfriend Cut flatters me
No more, butt exposed.
Pants changed, off I go
In search of consumer goods
I will spend too much.
Indian Grandma!
No one can walk past you when
You block the doorway!
Aha! Brown metal
Wastebasket, you are now mine
Replacing puked one.
Spring now must be close
I see the Wall of Flip-Flops
I snare tall black ones.
I eye the swimsuits
With a skeptic's gaze, for none
Will ever look good.
SPF 50
Will you protect my pale skin?
If applied often?
Target Mirrors, I
Curse you with vehemence, you
Are too accurate.
I buy a dress with
Poofy sleeves and cannot help
But think of Seinfeld.
The dress calls for some
Shapewear that promises much
Displacement science.
Young girl, bra shopping
With her mother, embarrassed
I cringe; she cringes.
INDIAN GRANDMA!!!
WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?
STOP BLOCKING ME, MAN!
I give up, time for
Checkout where it is confirmed
I have spent too much.
© Copyright 2008- Marianne Spellman