It's a group of city poems in the book.
And this is one of them.
It's called Line.
Those waiting in line for a cash register
at a supermarket pushing wire baby carriages full of food
and packages.
Past signs about coupons and the blank light.
Do not look at each other frankly.
Pretend not to stare at each other's soft drinks
and white bread.
Do not think of themselves as part of a line ordinarily.
And the clerk often does not look
at them giving them change.
And the man who puts the things they have chosen into bags
talks to the clerk as he never talks to her at any other time.