I’m tired

Of walking to the store where
there isn’t floss on the shelves—
Of training myself to be ready
for the moment it appears—
Of walking in hope on a bitter-chill
Sunday to scour the aisles—
Wondering where it’s gone—
Is it gone? Where did it go?
Did I miss it between the candles
and the soap and the cheese?
Should I wait hurriedly
some more and then some more
and then some more—?

I’m tired of thinking it’s coming
Some far-flung day when I’ll be lucky—
I’m tired of smiling in checkered grins
Because the coming is all I have hope for.