In Search of Hemingway in a Supermarket in Georgia

It's 2 o'clock in the morning and we're out walking around
looking for a place that's clean and well-lighted.
Normally, we'd mindlessly drive down these streets
but how could we tonight
with this muggy wind
and the sky so black
and being so bored?

No one's out 'cept for a few stragglers
driving home,
praying to god they don't weave
and swearing this is the last time.
It's not as bright as we'd like;
the trees add too much shade...
but we're safe 'cause the same pig-car drives by every two minutes
(we carry ID's in pocket in case they harass us though as yet
there's no law against searching for light).

We should've gone to the Waffle House.
It's got to be clean -- it just opened this week,
but it's too far to walk
and besides, it'll be too clean--
a little dirt's good for the soul.
The Pig's open though,
24 hours for your convenience ...
fluorescent with just enough dirt
to make you appreciate the white floor,
and it's got that great clinical air-conditioning
that makes you wish you were a polar bear...
and then there's those rows and rows of food
and --

I'm thirsty as shit--

Doors open at our approach (as if waiting on us).
It's so bright; I think we've found Valhalla.
We meander around
looking for the water
fountain
and then stand
in the frozen food section
until our blue jeans
get chilled.
Even in the back, where the fountain is,
it's still bright;
no shadows anywhere.

We oughta just pass out here.
Of course, we'll wake up in the morning with really bad colds
and bench lines on our cheeks
(tile marks if we fall off).
The manager'll be standing over us, in his khaki manager pants,
peering into our faces:
"Ma'am...excuse me,
ma'am...y'all're
scarin' the customers."

Well, it was a nice thought while it lasted.
Guess all that's left is the trek back home.
Hell, we'll even stop to trespass
and stick our de-blue-jeaned legs
into someone else's pool.

Dirt and dark won't be so bad now;
We can face the funky shadows the candles cast
and when the lights go out in the houses,
we'll sleep long and know that lonely is what it's all about.

--Paige Haggard