The sun set down in aisle three
just inside the lumber and garden entrance.
It stunned me clear over by the dairy cooler,
sun round as my eye behind the squint.
Red-gold light sprawled searing linoleum,
light bounced thick as steam
up into the passage.
People far down the aisle strolled through
like Shadrach in the king’s furnace,
shopping. Glory slapped their knees,
arced into their carts through wire mesh.
No one noticed. Nobody
went for the spill response kit,
the extinguisher, or a bucket.
Eventually I closed my mouth,
and found the milk.