Picnic

I am nine
One of six
Siblings piling
Out of our car into
Some grocery store
Where the clerk asked
My mother if we are a picnic
Or are all of these kids hers to
Which she replies we are all
Hers but it is no picnic as
The clerk smiles and
Nods watching us
Shoot down six
Aisles as the
Sound of
Falling
Items
Waft
Toward
The check
Out counter
All appeals for
This or that flatly
Denied then it is back
Into the station wagon
And on to our next LZ
Seven unique views
Straining to warp
Reality into line
Balanced by
Family ties
That bind
Us with
Love
But it is
No picnic.