Poem: The Holiday Haul

Morning sunlight pale,
shadow of floating cloud chill. 
A half full parking lot,
many full carts of goods,
whether you need or need not.
One in T-shirt,
with cool words printed on,
deliberately non-provoking.
One in winter boots,
not for the feet, 
but for the beautiful legs. 
One in jacket, 
an expensive fading grey color.
forgetful presence on purpose.
Why Trader Joe's?
You don't know, 
but you go anyway. 
Japanese yams with soft sweet flesh;
finger potatoes look tastily yellow;
Only one kind of Tofu is worth having;
Soy powder is gone,
only pea powder left.
He shelfs, he sings-- 
background music comes alive. 
She frowns, she sighs, she stares at her phone
The start of shopping season
is so boring,
but cheerfully necessary.