At the grocery store,
Camille discovers lonesome geezers
forlornly pushing shopping carts,
befuddled by produce.
They’re unable to tell the difference
between ripe or green,
melon, peach or tomato.
She wonders if this is how
they once chose their women,
grabbing the showiest specimen
from the top of a pyramid
without consideration
for soundness or sweetness.
How many years before
the magic waned
and they strayed,
substituting a younger version
of the same cardboard model?
