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March Madness
Game day snacks were on my mind
as I quickly got into the check out line.
March Madness enlivened a cold, gray day
and made me impatient with any delay.
Still, my line was express so I had no doubt
that in just a few moments I'd be checked out.
But there I stood; the line was still
as the man in front rang up a huge bill.
I saw some white hair. He looked 70 or 80
and the bags being packed looked awfully weighty.
10 items or less? That sign was a rip-off!
I needed to move. I was missing the tip-off!
He finally paid, then his bags nearly tore
and his feet seemed attached to the new vinyl floor.
Next came a struggle with his over-sized cane.
My God, he was finished and still blocking the lane!
He made a last wave with a toothless old smile
a break-away exit just wasn't his style.
Because of his age, I hadn't the heart
to say to his face, "Move it, you old fart."
But I watched with relief as he went out the door
and I prayed that he'd never come back to this store.
When I finally got out and ran to my car
I saw that he still hadn't made it too far.
The bags were all packed in his rusty, green van.
yet he stood guarding something in his wrinkly,old hand.
The game beckoned me, but I just had to pause
for a moment to see what he had in his claws.
As I walked over closer, I had nothing to say
but my impatient soul softened slightly that day
For there in his hand, making madness stand still
was the beauty and joy of a March daffodil.
Copyright ©
Pink Frisky
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