Costco Survivalists

Sometimes you must pretend
you could survive a bunker
or the war of a past generation.
I could be all pickled asparagus.
I imagine my occupation
three hundred years ago:
olive oil fingertips idly sewing
until I was too pregnant,
the seventh child by then, I suppose.
Sometimes, the worst part of my day
is forgetting my computer charger
in the other room.
A fake Louis Vuitton rug hangs
above my head in Costco.
In a warehouse of capitalist brigade,
I march on with purpose,
having found my preferred brand of oatmeal.
My friend’s baby sleeps
kangaroo style near her chest.
I ask what she would do
three hundred years ago. She replies, Pirate.
We eat jalapeño popper samplers.
Sometimes we talk about staying home,
eating all the ranch dressing we bought in bulk.
What if we had maternity leave
like they do in Sweden, she asks.
I say, What if they served Swedish meatballs here
like they do in Ikea. And she says,
Yeah, yeah that sounds pretty good.