What Adults Need

it is so far away,

like the sun.

and when i get there,

how am i to know?

will there be a sign,

a signal,

a card saying so?

i cannot tell, this far away,

what it may look like,

but i grow closer…

closer...

till i feel its heat on my face.

how different it is

from my home planet of

adolescence.

my moms away,

dads busy,

and im the oldest.

so i drive out to the store.

i go to the ATM

because i dont have a card.

i must remember the pin -

was it 5334, or 5343? -

and withdraw.

but how much is enough for the food

i plan to purchase?

(If I don’t have enough to pay the bills,

we’ll be evicted.

If I don’t have enough to buy food,

we’ll starve.

If I don’t have enough to put my kids through school,

they’re on their own.)

i take the money -

a hundred will cover it -

just four people,

right?

and i take a cart

and i find the right aisles

and i wonder if my sister would like

this kind more -

or this kind?

(Johnny needs new clothes;

his pants are all an inch above his ankle.

Rebecca’s sick, and I’m going to

have to take a day,

or more, from work -

there goes my vacation time.)

i tell the cashier, “Have a good day,”

and i give him my money,

and I pay only $87.99.

(Tax season is coming up.

That’s a lot of paperwork -

a lot of time.

I already don’t have enough -

the kids,

the divorce,

my job.

Time

is a precious commodity

I cannot afford. )

So this is what it means,

I think,

to be an Adult:

Grocery Shopping.