bananas on parade

Written by Bowie Jones


I woke up in a CVS the other day, I was in line buying cashews, good nutrients. I’m grabbing a banana out of the bin in the waiting line, sure 75 cents is expensive but who can put a price on sustenance?

Taking a step forward I’m on the ground dust from scraped gravel covers my eyes. The hands that grabbed the 75 cents banana are now bloody and unable to grip. Trying to slide out from the mechanical horse I drove into the ground I get one foot out and put it forward.

Taking a step forward in line. The one cashier seems to be aware of how alone she is against the fifteen people in line. She knows that no matter how many of us there are we are only confronting her counter one at a time. She is confident in this security. She sends the smoker on her way and waves the next consumer forward. I step forward with the rest between the partitions.

There are no partitions on a dirt road. The road is flattened rock surrounded by nothingness. I’m laying on the flat rock between nothing and nothing. I can’t catch my breath through this helmet. I wish I hadn’t worn a helmet. I fish my phone out of my skinny jeans to kill time in line. Skinny jeans make this process difficult. Bloody hands makes this process difficult. My torn knuckles and lack of finger nails can’t bare the scrape against denim. The only link to help is through pain. Pain of my legs from all this standing in line, I just want to buy my food and get out of the fluorescent atmosphere, atmosphere, atmosphere, the atmosphere is beautiful here. Laying on the ground amongst glass and metal bits that glisten in the sunset. What a time to die.

The tired woman waves me forward to purchase my food. A truck by view of the blood colored skyline. Soon an ambulance is called and my resting place is invaded. No longer am I alone, I’ve purchased goods as the others have and am released into the city as a consumer. A consumer of drugs and bandages, they cut off my torn cloths to stop the bleeding and bandage my broken body. It won’t last long, soon I’ll just need more cashews, or another banana. Soon I’ll be bloody and broken again.

They know this, they know I’ll be profitable as long as I need. As long as I need food. As long as I need bandages. As long as I need them they profit. My hands bleed dollar signs and my mouth salivates spare change. Whether I’m in line for them or they are called to “help” me, I will give them what I have because that is what they want. That’s their price for me.


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