Clean up on Aisle Three
I'm old but still appreciate a pretty face.
Down Aisle three, she caught me gazing dreamily.
Gave me a Roman, cobblestoned stare in return.
If I were a young buck with shiny hair
she may have even smiled at me.
I lowered my embarrassed bald head
between the bags of pinto beans.
She drifted away forever
down that hot fluorescent stream.
Today, when I eat a plate of pinto beans
I think of that cobblestoned queen gliding down aisle three.
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