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)