*I wrote this poem during the pandemic when panic-buying, supply chain issues, and inflation had begun to affect consumers.

CIRCUS MAXIMUS 

I grip the edge of my makeshift chariot, 

Handwritten list of essentials dutifully organized and categorized. 

 

Haltingly, I weave through the staggered line of contestants 

Who glance furtively in my direction.

Muffled voices strain to penetrate the fabric veil.

 

Heads are turning to the side, here and there. 

Hands reaching out, then pulling back, 

Questions hang heavily in the aisles.

 

My heart skips a beat as I come across an empty plain 

Picked over like the bones of some unfortunate beast. 

“Looks like we’re a little too late!” 

States the fine lady with coiffed hair and flashy jewelry. 

She laughs light-heartedly 

As my throat constricts. 

 

I close my eyes and see all the expectant faces 

Waiting for me at home. 

 

I do the best I can 

With what I can find. 

At the finish line,  

My chariot holds only half its normal bounty, 

Each race costlier than I could have foreseen. 

 

An invisible thief is crowned victor.