The Deli Aisle (for Now)

everything is packaged in family size
but I only need for one
that's the only thing that gives me pause
in the deli aisle
and there really isn't anyone to walk me outside
through the sliding doors.
sometimes I want to buy family size
just to pretend,
and I'm convinced I could convince the boys
at the register.
but instead I come home and write a free verse
about how all those granola bars
all that crunchy cereal
all those nuggets
pudding
the toothpaste (two to a pack!)
carrots
toilet paper
waxed fruits so refined
fish sticks
oatmeal packets
string cheese
cups o noodle
laundry suds
pickles
salad
shampoo and conditioner (with all their bonus ounces)
almonds
yoghurt
peanut butter
leeks and potatoes
the soy milk, original flavor
and the chips
would be wasted
because there is no tribe;
and from the corner of my eye
in the neon-lit, windowless box
I push so hard against pre-fab frozen entrees
called "meals for one"
so oppressively
and imagine a relationship
with the man buying them,
thinking about how much better I could cook
for him
with him.
and then
I go home
without big bags
because I only need for one.