Slice of Life 30:
Let’s be real… I’m tired of being the broke-down mom in the hoody, hunched over her cart. So upon arrival home from yet another one of my Target extravaganzas, I daydreamed a bit. Fine, it’s a stretch, a romanticized version maybe, but if I’m going to be writing about it, you better believe I am going to sashay my way, ok? Couldn’t help myself. So next time you’re in Target, I encourage you to be mindful of your sway, your curvatures, grace, and poise…We could just start a revolution. Target temptresses. Away we go…
Her gaze drifts to the asphalt as she
adjusts her skirt.
The curvature of her hips move with the rhythm of her stride, undulating to the beat,
Her arms swing like vines swaying with the breeze
Catches flight of a rolling cart,
Onward she glides
She is light as the air as passersby breathe her in,
Exhaling her essence, entranced with her mystique,
Slowly, she moves, deliberately,
Her wrists are delicate as she
reaches and withdraws.
Scans and debates. Clutches and collects
Elongated black lashes dash as her
Cheeks flush pink
With every wink.
She is poised, as a ballerina of Degas,
frothy and tangerine, whimsical with shades of sapphire,
Her body contours over the handle as she,
Her lips glisten,
Biting into her voluptuous pout,
discerning her choices.
Her piercing eyes dart,
Pushing her steely cart, forward,
Inattentively drifting through narrow aisles of desired
excessive items of indulgence
Until, a fearful familiar sensation overcomes her, as she
Realizes Target has prevailed
She grasps, as she
Reaches into her cluttered purse and hands
Her card to the attendant in Red.
Sighing slowly, with intention
an exhale of surrendered acceptance,
Clutching her steely bar, her hip projects to the right,
A nod and a smile, as she
Gracefully makes her exit.
Trickery or triumph, wound too tight to determine,
The Red bull’s-eye shines down upon her
As her shadow fades into the dark
Of parked cars.
locked on the pavement,
the exhaust fumes vanish.
Her car navigates home as she
steals one last fleeting glance of her nemesis,
Whom she loves to loathe
But loathes that she loves,
To Target, With Love.
Til we meet again.
I bid you,