Unknown

They decided that instead of a half-way house

Grandma could have me.

I woke up this morning under her NASCAR blanket. 

No clock in the wood paneled basement,

but I know it's 7. 

You don't break a year of routine 

in one day. 

She shows me where the Cinnamon Toast Crunch is kept.

I find the bowl myself, and she finds for me the soy milk.

As long as I know she is watching, 

I find ways to avoid pouring the Silk into my bowl.

When she leaves to hang the laundry, 

I put the carton back in the refridge,

and begin picking cinnamon squares out of the bowl

to eat dry.

I cancel my plans for a shower and make a mental note

to avoid the bathroom,

where her lipsticks, shadows, lotions, and creams

sit around the sink, staring me down.

Staring at me as I beg my bladder

to empty itself faster, so that we can escape our audience.

"Hardly anything there!" "I'll bet 

he's never been with a woman." "No, it's not much

to look at,"

the bottles of body lotion giggle. 

I hurry with the button, the fly,

concealing my small manhood

in shame.  

I've dressed and awkwardly situated myself in the blue Lazy Boy

by the time that Grandma comes back inside. 

She looks at her reflection in the microwave,
guiding the fake blonde curls back into their place,

before acknowledging me.
I wonder if I should say something.

Then she grabs the car keys off a hook on the wall
and raises her penciled in eyebrows at me,.
The blue shadow sparkles in contrast to her dull eyes. 

"Groceries," she informs me. 

Trailing Grandma in her grey sweat pants, I walk through the automatic doors

and am reintroduced into the world,

passing shoppers each on their own individual missions.

Produce, canned fruits, sauces, noodles, and crackers fill the cart.

As she waits for the apron and hair net 

to bag her quarter pound of chipped smoked ham,

I survey the selection of bread,
lagging behind the cart and the meat conversation.
A head of red, ears pierced with peace signs

brushes against my arm.

"Excuse me. I'm sorry. I didn't see you there, sorry."

My mouth produces these words and multiple variations on them rapidly.

I hold my hands up and then smile to show my sincerity,

probably a little over the top for bumping shoulders 

at the grocery store,

but I'm happy to be out and even happier to see people,

going about their usual business,

unaware of who I am 

or who I was.