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Line-Dancing At the Cashier
I used to find it irritating
when an old person ahead
of me in the checkout line
waited until every last item
was rung up before
remembering checkbook and pen.
How it took them
forever to fill the damn thing out
before carefully folding
and tearing it out
along the serrated line
so very, very carefully.
Any old time, grandma.
Or the old men who
did the same schtick
with their wallets which they called
billfolds, often the kind with zippers
and how they struggled to remember
just how the damn thing worked
while I’m right there behind
them tapping my foot
with little squiggly lines
coming out each ear
indicating smoke, considering
the benefits of euthanasia.
But now I find myself
pushing eighty here
in the checkout line
myopically viewing the tabloid
scandals of celebrities
I no longer recognize
and the first thing you know
I’m already there
with the cashier looking
at me intently
a question mark
hovering over her head
with this young guy right
behind me, smoke squiggles
coming out his ears
Right on cue
he perfectly forces a smile
as his tapping foot says his lines
and I finally realize
why those old guys
from back in the day
were so slow
and I have this almost
overwhelming need
to tell that young man
a great and wondrous
secret, that time casts us all
in interchangeable roles
and that he, too, will someday
hobble onto the stage of understanding.
and find himself with zippered billfold
playing me in the drama
of line-dancing with variations.
But that would take time
and he's in a hurry
so of course I don't.
Written 20 April 2023 Edited 11 January 2024
when an old person ahead
of me in the checkout line
waited until every last item
was rung up before
remembering checkbook and pen.
How it took them
forever to fill the damn thing out
before carefully folding
and tearing it out
along the serrated line
so very, very carefully.
Any old time, grandma.
Or the old men who
did the same schtick
with their wallets which they called
billfolds, often the kind with zippers
and how they struggled to remember
just how the damn thing worked
while I’m right there behind
them tapping my foot
with little squiggly lines
coming out each ear
indicating smoke, considering
the benefits of euthanasia.
But now I find myself
pushing eighty here
in the checkout line
myopically viewing the tabloid
scandals of celebrities
I no longer recognize
and the first thing you know
I’m already there
with the cashier looking
at me intently
a question mark
hovering over her head
with this young guy right
behind me, smoke squiggles
coming out his ears
Right on cue
he perfectly forces a smile
as his tapping foot says his lines
and I finally realize
why those old guys
from back in the day
were so slow
and I have this almost
overwhelming need
to tell that young man
a great and wondrous
secret, that time casts us all
in interchangeable roles
and that he, too, will someday
hobble onto the stage of understanding.
and find himself with zippered billfold
playing me in the drama
of line-dancing with variations.
But that would take time
and he's in a hurry
so of course I don't.
Written 20 April 2023 Edited 11 January 2024
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