27/03/2006
The Shopping Trip
By Linda Vicory
As I peruse the aisles
Of the local store
I see things more differently
Than I ever have before
"Mummy's little angel"
The embroidered bibs do read
But mummy's angel is in heaven
And bibs he does not need
He does not need a bottle
A jumper or a toy
Of buying those things for him
We shall never know the joy
There are tiny jars of baby food
That he will never eat
And shiny shoes with buckles
That will never touch his feet
As the bikes and trikes, they taunt me
From high up on the rack
Tears will break from my eyes
If ever I look back
I run off to the bathroom
To blow my nose and cry
I wipe my eyes, swallow hard,
And then let out a sigh
I must go face the paper
Erasers and wide rule
That he, my little angel
Will never use in school
I hurry past the greetings cards
That people choose with care
And then I am reminded
Of holidays, we shall not share
In the checkout line I bow my head
And heavy is my heart
For the family right in front of me
Has a newborn in their cart
Shopping from the local store
Used to be mundane
Now every aisle is full of items
That remind me of my pain
So, quick as I can, I give the cashier
The money from my purse
And hurry from those who don't know my pain
In this foreignly happy universe.
