The lettuce here is not fresh.
It is withered and flaccid.
I pick one up anyway thinking
that I could resuscitate it later
with my car battery,
that is how tired I am.
True slumber sweet rest
has become elusive.
Sleep decides when I can sleep,
when I can dream of sheep dreaming sheep.
I find that the cucumbers
are staring at me.
I back away slowly
into a young lady.
I’m sorry.
No, I’m not.
would you like a cucumber?
No, I didn’t mean it that way.
I don’t think so anyway.
The meat section was worse
if you can believe that.
I sure can!
I rolled on up there
still carrying the dead lettuce in my hand
not having bothered to bag it.
hernanjmonzon.com 
This is lovely- and really strikes home. Yes- I’ve been as bewildered as this. It’s lovely.It made me smile.
LikeLike
Thank you! I am glad that it did. Bewildered is a good word. When I look back at those times it does seem rather comedic.
LikeLike
Terrific. Best poem I’ve read in ages. Make me snort.
LikeLike
Hahaha! I love that you said that. Thanks!
LikeLike
Oops typoed- ‘made’. It was just so enjoyable all the way through!
LikeLike
🙂
LikeLike