The Food Co-Op

Joanne Godley

sir   your mask

all of the socially-distanced patrons in produce hear her            the man   with his chin-shelved cotton mask   stares back   the speaker is brown and small and woman    dressed in grocery-worker blue and white 

sir 

he raises his right arm and covers nose and mouth with hand   his eyes    dare her

outside   it snows softly   each snowflake’s descent an artistic dance   accompanied by night winds

your   mask

inside   task lights and accent lights make it easy to spot visual messages about the virus   signs reminding everyone to think of others   signs insisting all must mask   signs written in English   signs in Spanish   signs in Arabic   signs in Russian

the man scowls   his back abuts displays of colorful root vegetables rutabagas and carrots   beets and   parsnips   a family bin of potatoes   sweet   yellow   brown   purple 

he hacks a response into his hand   plunges his hand into   the Swiss chard    he thumbs

 his nose with his eyes   at her   grabs a glob of sanitizer into both palms        scuttles away

sir--

 she is tired   her shift finishes in an hour    then   she will board a lonely bus to a house warmed by waiting children    she’ll wash   the day away    cook   check homework       convey a few simple truths

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Joanne Godley is a physician, writer and poet in Alexandria, Virginia. Her poetry is published or forthcoming in the Bellevue Literary Review and Mantis, The Poeming Pigeon and Kosmos. Her chapbook, Picking Scabs from the Body History was published last year and one of the poems received a Pushcart nomination. Her prose is published in the Kenyon Review (KR) online, Akashic Press online, and the Massachusetts Review.