poetry by j matthew waters

smoke if you got ‘em

he reminded me of bukowski
or lebowski
I can’t remember which
disheveled & maybe talking to himself

but there he was waltzing
through the aisles in his bathrobe
or batman cape
or some such in-or-out-of-fashion thing
dangling a loaf of wonderbread
holding onto a few precious items

somehow he snuck in first
at the wine & spirits checkout
me with my twelve pack
& he with his precious selections
(plus two bags of ice in the minicart)
annoyingly amusing with all that
fumbling for payment options
& mumbling via chit chat about local
sports & the art of social distancing
numerous times checking front left
& back right pockets
the hair on his chinny chin chin
growing grayer by the second

august two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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