In the supermarket, you can find
all the answers you left behind
when you imagined pastel mints
with a haze of white nonpareils,
fine as ladies in Sunday gloves,
and you thought this was the world
you’d always belong in, but then
the world changed around you,
and you changed worlds, too,
so that now, in the supermarket,
if you happened to find those
pastel mints with nonpareil haze,
you would think of those ladies
and wonder what ever happened
to ladies, their gloves, Sundays.