Convenience Store

The woman on the cardboard is fading.
Her elven hair has caught dust. A thousand squirrels run from underneath her.
The year is almost over. On the shelves: nylon socks. Now I am present here.
My groin is stationary at this orange table.
The machines are roaring. The microwave.
Coffee. The blinds. The cold air.
Freshener gets sprayed here with some frequency.