Caught in the fluorescent glow between snacks and deals,
Reality strikes with the force of a shopping cart’s wheels.
Here I am at forty, staring down aisles of escape,
Wondering if youth can be reshaped by tape or drape.
Each item on the shelf whispers promises it can’t keep,
A sports car in miniature, too small and far too cheap.
I fill my cart with gadgets I’ll soon forget,
Hoping each purchase cuts ties to regret.
Midlife murmurs in every step I take,
Past cereals that crunch like decisions I can’t unmake.
Gym memberships and designer jeans stack high,
Tokens of a youth that sighs, slips by.
I’ve traded dreams for routine, comfort for pause,
Chasing echoes of who I was, without cause.
The bright packaging can’t hold back the time,
Nor can the checkout erase the grime.
I roll into Aisle 3, a cliché on wheels,
Amongst bargains that bargain for how emptiness feels.
My heart heavy with cracks no product can fill,
Each beep at the register tallying the bill.
Perhaps a new car, a splash of dye in my fading hair,
Will smooth the edges of this existential wear.
Yet, deep down, beneath every swipe and beep,
Lies a man still too restless to sleep.
Neon lights flicker, casting shadows of doubt,
On what life’s all about as my years run out.
Yet here in this aisle, I’m both lost and found,
In the crisis that circles, round and profound.
So I’ll keep seeking, amidst the consumer throng,
For a peace that feels right, in a world that feels wrong.
Perhaps in Aisle 3, or maybe Aisle 4,
I’ll find what I’m looking for, or just fill my cart some more.