Five Letters, Starts With ‘W’

the first time i had my earphones in.
i don’t think i got round to turning the music on.
i walked the aisles and repeated, “this is weird,” over and over.
an hour later my mouth was empty of vocabulary.
i sat in my car, and started the engine.

–

the second time, i went with you.
i told you it would be weird, so we walked in together, holding hands.
crates were upturned.
i can’t remember what you said, but i know it didn’t take long for your words to stop dropping, too.
you took a photo, and we stood still, hugging in the fruit aisle.

–

by the third time, we were overestimating what 2m looked like.
we were nodded in, and i said something unfunny about aldi being a shit nightclub.
inside, we probably said, “this is weird,” again.
and it was, wasn’t it?

–

the fourth time we were naïve.
the ground was freshly painted with lines, and we realized we couldn’t go in together anymore.
you gave me the car keys, i gave you the list;
when we got home, it was still missing ticks.

–

now it’s two separate lists, and two sets of bags.
before we go in, i recite the rules to you like an old coach wanting to change careers.
the first time we queued apart, we pretended to not know each other, and i asked you for your number.

i covered my lips with a scarf and smiled beneath it, but all you could see was a little curl in my eyes. i turned back, and watched a woman wrap a long-sleeved top like a balaclava across her face, wiping down a trolley and smothering herself in sanitizer.

i turned back to you, and we smiled in solidarity.
beneath my scarf, i mouthed wordlessly:

“this is weird.”