Hi Alex,
I enjoyed this too, although the form didn't work for me. I just found it didn't go well with the material, as a more free-form approach would better reflect the rambling nature of the narrative/delivery, I think. Anyway, I'll give some more specific feedback below, including suggested line breaks, just to see how it might look if you are interested in trying a different form at all. Apart from that, it felt a bit too long, but it was still very enjoyable despite these two quibbles.
You were at work when, yesterday,
I felt as if sleepwalking at the grocery store—
there just for a bar of butter.
Yeah, small chore—not like trips where I’d dragged you there.
I dealt with it.
Today, I’d dozed off with your breakfast cooking on the stove.
It was oatmeal.
Imagine how it crusted black.
I woke fast and scrubbed and scrubbed with pumice stone on steel.
I’d napped preparing it with thoughts about
that Safeway grocery incident last night.
I tried to tell you about it, all right?
So, when did you come home?—
I’m blanking out.
I wish you didn’t leave your beeper on vibrate—
and surely not atop the fridge.
It clattered like a power saw at dawn
and jerked me awake, like pots in a sledge,
as did your noisy snore from the bedroom upstairs;
then how it huffed above Good Morning America—
the endless talk of groaning
sex there, at the White House,
all those with whom, they thought, he did it. [remove commas in this line?]
Right then, I was back
to last night’s meets. He didn’t mind at all
shopping. From work, he drove in. His jet-black [delete "shopping"?] hair seemed like yours.
Guess what? Like you, he’s Paul! [delete line?]
I had just dodged the meat aisle pillar.
There it loomed.
Him too. I was behind him when checking out.
What a fluke! The cashier then, quite bubbly,
tallied what she bagged with flair—
a shaken Coke bottle with cap gone pop.
Don’t touch my food divider.
Stop! the lady
in front yelled out. He gently let it drop,
not answering her back.
A man not ready to press a point against a woman.
Don’t you know, you never touch a woman’s goods,
the cashier chimed in.
Next, she caught the dude’s eye for checkout:
Five bucks, one cent, she droned.
He gave her five, hesitant with the one
he’d rather not break.
I reached into my bra purse,
offered him that penny, and deal done.
He bowed and bowed.
A man who’d stoop to a madam just for one paltry penny.
I smiled.
He smiled.
Before he could say anything
the cashier cut in: I’m now gonna ring it.
Lots of nice folk here too—she was dialed in.
Thus I lingered at the heart of it.
We’ve got to sit and talk when both awake.
You must have night tales too, your own tidbit.
Truly, let’s talk. Oh, treat’s in the fridge:
cupcake.
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Hybrid Mode
