How You Know the Lettuce Is Good

You know the lettuce is good

Because the woman across from you

Lurking behind the potatoes

Wants the head you’re holding

And she’s just waiting for you

To set it down

So she can pounce

Maybe it looks a little wilted

But there must be something to it

Or she wouldn’t be sneaking ‘round the spuds

Pretending as though she’s going

To make potato salad later

Nobody makes potato salad

And nobody buys one potato

There’s something going on

With this lettuce

You put it down

And she becomes

Visibly relieved

You pick it back up
And her body tenses

Her eyes narrow

Her hands grip the Idaho

She was only loosely caressing

Like it’s the steering wheel

And she’s in a high-speed chase

This lettuce has a purpose

This lettuce is meant for greater things

But then you think--

What could you do with it?

Use it in a salad?

Put it in a sandwich?

Let it sit at the bottom

Of your fridge

Forgetting its there

Until one day

You’re cleaning

And you notice

A bad smell

Coming from where

The asparagus went bad

And the tomatoes went bad

And all the other vegetables soured

Because you don’t really like vegetables

You just want to believe

That one day you’ll like them

But that was before

You met this head of lettuce

This is a good head of lettuce

This head of lettuce is coveted

It’s not just the woman

By the potatoes

It’s the guy near the hot peppers

The mother with two kids at the deli

The robot that always gets in your way

Going in a circle around you

As you cradle those luscious green leaves

And promise it a better life

Beyond these fluorescent lights

Everyone wants this lettuce

Everyone wants what you have

What you’re about to have

You have to get to cashier

No self-checkout on this one

You need a witness

You need proof that you’re the lucky one

That you were the one

Who spotted this diamond in the produce

That you picked a winner

Should you even bother purchasing it?

Should you just make a run for it?

Shoplifting is a crime

But so is giving the thieves

All around you

The chance to take

What rightfully belongs to you

In a way that’s so much more

Than just currency

And capitalism

You put the lettuce in your cart

And roll it quickly

To the nearest register

Forget what else you came for

The mustard

The cereal

Your husband’s heart pills

At the pharmacy

None of that matters now

All that matters is this lettuce

The teenage girl

With a lip ring

Punches in the item code

You pay in cash

You can’t risk being traced

Somebody might be waiting for you

Out in the parking lot

Forgoing the receipt

You make a mad dash

For your car

And once you’re in

You peel out and away

Before the hordes

Can descend on you

The lettuce sits in your passenger seat

Seat belt around it

You’re driving like a madman

But you’ve never felt

So aware

You can’t take any chances

You can’t take any chances

You can’t take any chances

When you get home

You run in the house

In case you were followed

And place the lettuce

In the dead center

Of the kitchen table

From one of the bedrooms

You hear a child’s voice ask

If you remembered their cereal

‘Oh shoot,’ you call out,

Your face never changing

‘I forgot.’

The lettuce sits in the kitchen

While outside

A woman holding a potato

Cooks up a new plan