When Death Frequents a Supermarket

When Death Frequents A Supermarket  

The doors don't open
automatically because
there's no matter there.

When you finally get in
the fruits and vegetables 
are tasteless, even the most

Pungent cheese smells like
nothing. Tasting and smelling
are solely for the living.

The lady giving out samples
ignores you, seems apprehensive
about you being there.

No one is happy to see you.
No one likes you much.

No one comes around to pick
you up when you leave.

A fearless taxi driver
drives right through you. 

Gil Hoy

Gil Hoy is a Boston poet, political activist, and semi-retired trial lawyer. He studied poetry at Boston University through its Evergreen program. Hoy received a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science from Boston University, an M.A. in Government from Georgetown University, and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as a Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Hoy’s poetry has appeared, or will be appearing, most recently in Mobius: Journal of Social Change,  Tipton Poetry Journal, Chiron Review, Ariel Chart, MisfitMagazine, The New Verse News, The Penmen Review, Right Hand Pointing and elsewhere.


  1. Worthy work but not sure how it reached number one of the chart. With writing you never know what is going to connect. (Didn't mean any offense. Alright.)

    1. I agree, Ken, we never know what is going to reach a person. Thanks for your contribution.

  2. These words stay with you. Powerful.

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