When I said I feel like shopping carts, I didn’t mean
How slick they are, glazed with rain in the cart bank
Or the hours they spend overflowing with bounty;
I didn’t mean how nested they are with the rest,
Glinting metal aligned with a golden dawn.

I can’t recall, who invented shopping carts?
Who fumed with volcanos, translated the heart?
Who could become the asymmetry of thought?
Who could roll with hindsight lashed to foresight?
Who am I to equate people with metaphor?

When I said I feel like shopping carts
I meant pushed inside myself.
When I said I feel like shopping carts
I meant I feel, I feel peopled into abstraction
of thoughts to lines, circle to wheel.

Catch David Bankson with his previous entries for the theme Black and Blue: