a kind of ballet by Stephen Brady

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
spaces between us
a dance no-one rehearsed for;
we orbit, lonely planets

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

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