Costco Quixote
Try not as I might,
I am, finally, that guy
Shuffling out of Costco,
Silver spice brows blink against the sudden sun.
Gray hair strands peeking out the back
Of my tweedy newsboy cap,
Creaking stiffness perceived by
Uncertain passing observers, gawking,
Masks the appearance of greater pain.
Nerve-wracking walking, timid at best,
Can scare the watchers. Fear not there,
Six decades have tuned the autopilot keen.
Ginger steps on tired Birkenstocks
Ensure successful travel, destination arrival.
Whilst seems like tediously trudging hours,
Leaning strategically on the clanking steel red cart
Prevents headlong sprawl displays.
Amidst honking aisle-racing enthusiasts,
Failing to wedge a path through my artificial limbs
Nor advance their rush to debt enhancement,
My smirk belies my under-breath-uttered oaths
Wishing them depart, desist, delete that selfish
Disposition then revere the path taken by seasoned
Souls still worthy, worth watching.
The sanctity of Sapphire Honda nears steadily,
Beckoning sanctuary from hazards of this day.
Slow, precise loading, item by item, prefaces my
Slipping onto Retreat’s grey leather seats.
A single, thankful, whispered “ahhh”, escapes.
Pause, and wear the sun as it embraces
Through tempered side-glass
Till knurled hands can man the helm, eyes serene:
Plotting sound navigation...
Charting voyage home...harbor.
~~~~~~~~~
(a quixotic mariner sails the lot)
Copyright © Arlo Parker | Year Posted 2022
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