(escapril, day 20: a liminal space)

Bright lime, neon orange, furious fuschia.

I wonder which soda will turn my tongue the most violent shade.

The buzzing of the refrigerator in the corner.

Fluorescent lighting casting everything in an unearthly pallor.

The windows are dirty and the sky is greyish brown.

The floor has smudgey mop lines running up and down its length,

But the aisles are always clear, and everything is where it should be.

The cashier looks at me with a measuring expression.

He adjusts the yellow spotted cap on his head and hands me my change.

I nod, I don’t say thank you. I know the rules.

I step outside into the soft sunshine of the pier and walk home,

Barefoot in the sand,

The wind whisks away the prints.