The harsh bulbs here
Cast everything in a stark white glow
From the numbered aisles
To the fish on their bed of snow

You used to tease me every time
My face would twist and turn
From the acrid aroma
That made my nostrils burn

One summer they started selling lobster 
Freshly picked for a watery grave 
We’d stare as long as we could
And of course you’d dare me to misbehave

We’d give them stories
Not knowing how our own would go
one was friends with everyone
One kind, one famous, one slow

It just seems vulgar now
Without that imagination 
I held back then
I thought it my only salvation 

I saw you not far from here 
Laughing amongst a crowd
Of strangers that must have been friends to you
To me they seemed too loud

Maybe if I could raise my own voice a bit
I’d melt back into your life

And we’d be the same
As we were back then
And maybe I wouldn’t be haunted by this stench of shame.