The Produce Line

Here I am standing in line, yet again.
Today, it is the produce line.
My feet ache and my hands are clenched.
I become very critical of the woman seven people away, digging out exact change.
My frustration lies bitter in my throat, and I feel my sarcasm coming to a head.
I trudge through life in lines.................
I want to scream, "there's people behind you", but I am not that corageous.
Instead, I look into my cart. Stare quietly at my lemon meringue pie, notice some fluff on top of the plastic case.
                                  The line moves so slow.................................
Thoughts turn to dinner.
What should I make?
My neurotic self begins to panic.
So, I go through the fridge in my mind....Oh no! I have to clean it out.
I can actually smell how acrid it's going to be.
I'll figure it out later.........On to more pleasant thoughts.
I transcend myself to a place of euphoria, where mucsic plays in my mind.
                                Everything seems sensual.............................
           BAM!!!!
The line moves and my happy place is lost in the void.
I don't seemto be any closer to the front of the line.
I really wish everyone was lost in Nirvans and I was home drinking a nice hot, frothy cappucino and eating my pie with my charismatic dog Juggernaut.
                               That would be Ghetto Fabulous.....................