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supermarket madness

in the grocery store
several nights have passed,
sleepless.
the sign says,
FRESH TORTILLAS,
I know,
but I read
FLESH TORTILLAS.

they are bags of
white scalps,
each follicle carefully
plucked and scrubbed,
the whole thing nicely
ironed.

dark-haired woman
tall and overweight
hands out free boxes
of breakfast cereal,
RAT KRISPIES.

dried droppings,
hanta virus
delivered.

I must have liver
mine is tired and
perforated
so I will try an
interspecies transplant
per os.

my new organ
looks clean
and pure
on its cello-wrapped
styro-sterile
tray.

canít risk rejection
the blood types
must match.

why do they keep
the booze locked up?

must find the warden,
the man with
the combination
to the blood bank.

-Type?- the warden asks

donít you prick
fingers here?

I think Iím a
j.d. positive,
tonight.

my hand is shaking.
I am late for
my transfusion.

I must get
out of here.
I walk down the aisle
but it is
the wrong way.

the dead fish
in the jar
in the refrigerator
should have never
gone
to school.

I reel at the sight
and my bourbon blood
shatters on the floor.

biohazard
toxic waste.

I leave my
new organ 
to marinate
and run
from here.

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