Night at Target
Ryan Bender-Murphy

You are called out
to where

those clothing
racks have

their lives

longing for tongues,
pressured by
the fluorescence

to appear

Every one
of your childhood
days falls

off a shelf.

Your mother bites
open the fullest one;

small cards slide out,
then even
smaller voices.

This is
the last time
you will ever arrive

This is what
the basket hanging
from your hand
is for.