Here I am again, at Big Lots Look: Decorative Garden Trowel, $2.49 that’s a steal I think of: first, the plastic, molten and grossly over-opaque pink think pepto-bismal or whole milk and HOT, ejaculated under high pressure into a steal mold which hissed, seconds later, and the part popped right out into the robotic hand that waited with a miraculous pause identical to the one before it and the one before it now this garden trowel sits proudly on the shelf clean, brave; ready to be soiled in conquest It has decorative floral stenciling. It has a name. Where to, next? There are hundreds of possibilities; thousands! the patio lanterns the “Lemonaders” the wrench sets, and bright, new bathroom towels all waiting to be picked up and brought to a happy home I feel eternally hungry Time to stop procrastinating. Stepping slightly sideways, I make my way over towards the bathroom/hygiene section to get what it was I came for: paper towels, tissues, and toilet paper there will be no bumble-bee weather vanes, or neon plastic tumblers for me today a little boy scoots past me waving a toy on a cell-packed card his mother takes it from him, rests it delicately in the top shelf of her cart below, in the big belly basket she has: window cleaner, an embroidered pillow, a desk lamp—one of those, high up, with their heads turned down I allow myself to gaze again—just for a second at the promising colors, the honest attempts at affordable quality Thinking, If only I had a couch. If only I had a real kitchen, a lawn… There is no family back home, no tired husband, or growing little boy Surely, I am just another gluttonous American, solitary, driving two blocks further to save a buck And the lady at the checkout stand is so nice, she asks me if I want my toilet paper double-bagged, because she understands how embarrassing it can be “Are you sure?” as I kindly deny her offer “Oh, it’ll be fine,” I say a man walks in with three children just then he’s holding hands with two as the third, the oldest trails slightly behind Big Lots Aisles and aisles of plastic crap. It doesn’t even stop at the check-out: Here is the furniture section chairs for inside, chairs for outside for the patio, for the lawn juxtaposed cheerily with more plastic tumblers They might as well be winking at me from up in heaven. In this land of accommodation and comfort A spectrum of choices, and bright-eyed bargains What does it take to be happy? As I leave, I’m thinking: it doesn’t take much.