Attention Walmart Shoppers

Each corner of the place
tells me to turn back
(it seems there was an upset
somewhere in aisle seven
right behind the tramadol and tampons
you slid discretely
in your purse.)
Why would I judge you
for that coffee in your hand
or the taste
of rampage left hiding on the shelves?
The stock boy stares at your legs
as you push your cart
past a mother
heaving chlorox
and her babies
in a basket
and wonders if one day
he too will grow into
a man who can
love dangerously.
The cashier
smiles at me
hungrily, fingers cupping coins
into my palm,
my lettuce wilting
in the strange buzzing light.