Vertical Divider
Almost no one else heard it, the bitch, bitch thrown from the line next to me. It was Thursday, and the voice offered its etceteras without saying much else. But what is there to say when your only contentment is on the conveyor, and the woman says no to the cash in the palm of your hand? I had layered my groceries: some whole bean coffee, bananas, whatever I’d been able to grab in a few minutes. I wasn’t yet late. What happened was small, and I was buying these things. Also ham and peaches, a bag of pecans. I heard the words simultaneously, though he spread them apart. I paid with a card (no signature under 50 dollars) without turning around. I can still hear the rasps he used to backhand that helpless cashier who refused him the drink, drunk as he was. Security was called. I turned to go out, and saw the type of man you’d expect: sort of gruff, sort of dirty, trying to hold the closest thing he had to a poem: a bottle that might propel him toward a new ungainly moment. He wanted to hold that kind of wanting. Next time I saw him he was walking to the end of the parking lot with the guard at his elbow. The air was limp, the road through the city no longer parallel. Full of lament. LAUREN CAMP is the author of two volumes of poetry, most recently The Dailiness, winner of the National Federation of Press Women 2014 Poetry Book Prize and a World Literature Today “Editor’s Pick.” Her third book, One Hundred Hungers, selected by David Wojahn for the Dorset Prize, is forthcoming. Winner of The Más Tequlia Review Margaret Randall Poetry Prize and the 2012 Anna Davidson Rosenberg Poetry Award, Camp’s poems have appeared in Brilliant Corners, Beloit Poetry Journal, Linebreak, Nimrod, and other journals. She hosts “Audio Saucepan,” a global music/poetry program on Santa Fe Public Radio.
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VOLUME 48.4
This poem was a finalist for our 2014 Auburn Witness Poetry Prize Honoring Jake Adam York. Learn more about our annual contest here.
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