Images (see Allen Ginsberg, "A Supermarket in California")

Allen, you shopped for images in your
supermarket in California.
I can imagine avocados,
kiwis, grapes even darker and fatter
than a mother's nipples. Images, Allen.
Were there drugs moving you along from aisle
to aisle, drugs that made you see beauty where
there was none? So today I went to a local
Stop 'n' Shop to see if I could. But I
only saw images of myself as I
used to be: Shopping with Jeff, who always
needed to go up and down every aisle
with the most practical intent; thoughts of
my boy sitting in the baby seat, when
I would lean down and press my cheek against
his. My boy! Where have you gone? My cheek,
where have you gone? You are sunken and
wrinkled and old. Is it a howl I need or kaddish?
O my G-d, where has my own steady self gone?
Where have the years to look forward to gone?

em