On the front side it read:
“vinyl; Ollie’s favorite wipes; shampoo
Body Wash; $ wikis Bot + Body;
Paint”, with {parenthesis} on the “$” part.
The back side said: “Krog. Cua chese; chees; chili
no Bean; A.H. Batteries; nose trimmer.”
It wasn’t destroyed by a string trimmer,
drifting there by the grass. Should it be read,
plucked scantily out of asphalt chili,
cleansed in my curiosity’s shampoo?
Still, my wayward hand simply won’t part
with it, clasping its lines to my body.
I gawk at this small, weird note’s text body,
asking whose grocery list met the trimmer,
just thrown away after playing its part.
But, its chicken scratch can hardly be read;
and, who was it that needed more shampoo?
I think it’d help if they could spell “chili”.
Musing how I usually make chili
(it’s ready made at Kroger?), I body
the note on my countertop, slamming “shampoo”
into the vernacular. I’m a trimmer
who doesn’t care once lists like this are read.
After all, here in my home, what’s its part?
It probably already served its part,
after Ollie so gorged himself on chili
that he needed his favorite wipes to read
the labels on his paint, vinyl, body
wash, A.H. batteries and nose trimmer.
So long were his hairs that they needed shampoo!
Yet, I can relate to buying shampoo;
and, I always, at least, intend to part
with my grocery lists when they’re trimmer.
Maybe now I’ll make some of my chili,
which will nourish my ungrateful body,
snuggle up with my used textbook and read.
This week’s list is trimmer without shampoo.
“Milk, eggs, oil” it read, some items a part
of creating my chili recipe’s body.
This sestina is copyright 2026 by Jessica McLean. File sharing is encouraged.
“Most found lists are anonymous — just scribbled words on a page. But, we can relate to them. I need toilet paper just like you.”
— Bill Keggy, in the introduction to his book, “Milk, Eggs, Vodka: Grocery Lists Lost and Found
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