The young stock clerk with the fanciful beard
And waxed moustaches carried open boxes
Of California vintages. His left bicep sported
A detailed tat of a finback whale skull and skeleton.
A customer sent him on a quest for an Arizona
Label that no longer existed. He apologized
For its nonexistence, but the jovial customer
Was happy to blame droughts and fires
And global warming. “This could all be wine
Country someday,” joked the clerk. “Get in
On the ground floor.” Another customer
In the checkout line noticed a local vodka
From the Sugarhouse Distillery, chuckling.
Outside, the Great Salt Lake retreated, but
All kidding aside, people were shopping
More for the end of the year than the world.
It’s only the arbitrary reality one counts on.
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