Bags Don't Come Free

Saturday morning

I plan to ride my bike to Target
to buy front-closing bras

for post-surgical Esther 

but the fog is down —
the temperature's barely 50.

Instead, I bike to her house
where no one’s up. I unlatch
the chicken house ramp —
Say hello, chicks, to the new day —
park in the basement
& snag the key to the little car.

I drive the route I’d meant to bike
along river, ocean, harbor
via East Cliff, Murray, 7th, Brommer, 41st.

Target's not even open

then they are, but they don’t
stock front-closing bras.

I walk through the dark mall & outside
& into Kohl's to find bras.
No one’s here. Thousands of bras.
I haven’t bought a bra
in 45 years — a nursing bra
I tried once & tossed.

No clerks in sight so I scan

rack after rack — 1500 styles of bra. 

Only three close in the front

in 38B, so I buy them
from a checker who asks me
do you need a bag? No

though I think about how
I will look walking outside

then in, through the empty mall
back to Target & out to my car
holding a beige, a black
& a salmon pink bra.

The checker calls me back
& hands me a black cloth bag
marked Kohl’s — I thought
she says, we’d given
these all away. She doesn't know
I pass no one

while walking my Kohl's bag
back to Target to shop 

for placemats, napkins, & a spatula.

Do you need a bag? No 

thank you. Let my housewares

share space with Esther's bras.

— 27 April 2013