the fainting spell

in the big store
you feel like
you might faint, so you say
I feel kind of dizzy
to no one in particular,
grabbing onto
a rack of clothes marked
seventy per cent off.
the fluorescent light is
a million black dots,
like buzzing flies
trying
to congeal and go dark.
there is the warm glow of
sleep approaching.
you worry about hitting your
head on the tiled floor, so
you take a seat
beside an old woman with
knee stockings
and a sandwich in her hand.
ham and cheese.
she stops eating to look
at you.
there is lettuce between her teeth.
are you alright, she says.
you look pale,
like you might faint,
or something.
it's the lights in here,
she says,
the music, the smell.
you have to eat something
when you shop here,
she puts the sandwich
in front of your mouth.
you take a bite, then her drink,
the long straw finding your parched
lips. you suck in a gulp
of soda and murmur thanks.
I come here every day, she
says. you have to pace
yourself.