the aisles are wide
we slide and turn
scanning the empty places
all the new and sudden spaces
with our trolleys and our paper faces
moving fluid
gaps between
we enter and leave
a kind of ballet
this is how it has to be
no muzak; silent ticking
we flow
in and out
a choreography
of survival
Spaces on the shelves
and
spaces between us
a dance no-one rehearsed for;
we orbit, lonely planets
and
the coffee and the bread
and the instant noodles
and the cereals
and kitchen towel
and petfood
are still here
but everything else has changed