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Price Check on Register #5

Bare midriffs parade the latest reincarnation of Neverland
matching wits with flecks of cream
vying for the morning coffee’s surface tension.
Little Bo Peep is jailed for public lewdness.
Even my somersaults go unheralded.
Across the street, flags of speculation are hoisted
against the moon at its jovialest.
It’s likely the birds too have caught the mail-order bug
their flapping loud enough to derail a commuter train
onto the front lawn flattening a pink flamingo.
An old man stops to clean his bygone eyes on a park bench
where permutations of parking meters
blind indifferent well-wishers.
Aisle 5 of course is still the hands-down favorite
with its multicolored fruit loops
bracketed by canned juices and breakfast drinks.
The driver of the hit-and-run shopping cart remains at-large
but the checkout girl has wrapped my attention
around her softly woven thigh and quietly led me to safety.