A Supermarket in California

A Supermarket in California

What thoughts I have of you tonight,

Walt Whitman,

for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees

with a headache self-conscious

looking at the full moon

In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,

I went into the neon fruit supermarket,

dreaming of your enumerations!

What peaches and what penumbras!

Whole families shopping at night!

Aisles full of husbands!

Wives in the avocados,

babies in the tomatoes!

--and you, Garcia Lorca,——

what were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman,

childless, lonely old grubber,

poking among the meats in the refrigerator

and eyeing the grocery boys

I heard you asking questions of each

Who killed the pork chops?

What price bananas?

Are you my Angel?

I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you,

and followed in my imagination by the store detective

We strode down the open corridors together

in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes,

possessing every frozen delicacy,

and never passing the cashier

Where are we going, Walt Whitman？

The doors close in an hour

Which way does your beard point tonight?

(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)（

Will we walk all night through solitary streets?

The trees add shade tfo shade,

lights out in the houses,

we'll both be lonely

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love

past blue automobiles in driveways,

home to our silent cottage?

Ah, dear father,

graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,

what America did you have

when Charon quit poling his ferry

and you got out on a smoking bank

and stood watching the boat

disappear on the black waters of Lethe?