Fog

I meant to type “Fog” just now
But at first I typed “Gof,”
And that made me think of God,
Which I do a lot since I turned 50
And decided I’m an agnostic
Who really likes ritual, tradition
And a sense of community,
Which of course I know
I could find perhaps in Masonry
Or falconry or martial arts
Or the Republican Party
Which I don’t believe in
Because in my mind
G.O.P. stands for “Greedy Old People,”
And I’m not old and I’m not greedy,
Just needy like most people nowadays
Or maybe—maybe—always,
People needing each other’s support
To validate their existences and choices
Like the choices we make at Wal-Mart
Which I love to hate and hate to love
Because they’ve driven out of business
All those mom-and-pop stores
In all those quaint little downtowns,
You know the shops with nothing much
And you paid a whole lot for nothing much,
But at least they’d make eye contact
While they checked you out—
I mean your merchandise, not you—
Which is more than I can say
For the tired middle-aged women
With the Carpal Tunnel-related casts
On their varicose wrists
Who are too weary to say “Hi”
When I go through with my dog food,
staple guns, tampons, and grapefruit,
my diet pills and Rocky Road
(and isn’t every road rocky in the end?).

Wait. I was talking about God, wasn’t I?