Mudlark No. 48 (2012)

The Insulated Bag

He knows what goes into it, the packer
in the supermarket, the man my age,
retired, name tag askew, gray hair thin-
ning, he’s putting eggs, frozen veggies, free-
range chicken in the blue insulated 
bag with Velcro grippers lining its mouth, 
sealing cold that inhibits a kind of
dying, the same bag that young packers swell 
with cereals, plastic wrap, cans of beans
that won’t rot or sour or liquefy.
What do they know of such things, if they can’t 
say what happens It Happened One Night, 
get Velcro strips to meet, this Cheerios 
box now protruding its Oh Oh Oh Oh.

John Allman | Listening to the Nightingale
Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)