zero degrees kelvin

consumer: a slam poem

you see her in the grocery store.

you see her walking, scanning the cleaning aisle
looking for something stronger
because all the Clorox in the world
couldn't remove the residue your unsolicited touch
left on her skin.

you see her in the household appliance section
searching the walls
for something that will cut ties.
not on packaging, no,
i'm talking about the kind of attachments that can only be formed by
a kiss on the neck,
a sweet-nothing whispered into her ear,
and an ignored "no."

you see her go into the frozen-food area,
and although her mother said
frozen peas are good for swelling,
she's not too sure they'll do the trick
for those blue bruises on her arm
and the burning outline of some cat-calling stranger's hand on her ass.

you see her approach the alcohol
and you get excited because she'll finally "let go".
but what you don't know is that she's just trying to fill a space in her,
a space that can't be lessened by a beer or six,
because when you abandoned your morals,
she abandoned herself. and unfortunately, innocence doesn't have a return policy.