Stranger

20 years ago we  

all had their t-shirts,

insider knowledge

of their cover-art

origin and meaning,

and mushroom cuts.

Now in an empty shop

I’m bored, reading

classic books professors

raved about and then retired

to Gulf Islands—hippies and

gardens, a lyric surprises me:

Slim. Relax. Fine wine at the QFC

on a snowy Saturday night

Now, I’m a stranger mumbling

half-forgotten lyrics, estimating

the distance to the nearest

Quality Food Center.

Maybe100 miles?

Probably more.