SUPERMARKET ART

he was strolling down aisle four
a solitary street towards frozen foods
fatigued by plenty of breathing
and too much Kerouac
searching for his canned whore

walking all day without shopping
a death march of overstocked shelves
rushed by the deadline of failure
and too many uppers
running towards more pill popping

he stopped at the congregation of boredom
a self-conscious row of soup cans
touched by visions of pop art
and to many Camel cigs
Andy Warhol silk screened some