Behind the glass of passenger side window,
artificially lit.
Car park is sparsely populated.
Wind blows, desolate resonance; shakes the last of the
leaves from the token trees growing from graveled squares.
Coffee banners thrill in the fight with unseen forces.
Inside the superstore warmth is wafted through aisles
of every kind of fruit.
Breath hot into the wool loops of scarf.
Glance up, only a glance is required.
Mr has a signature walk, I always know it. I wonder
how many steps I have watched him take.
I always know him, but never quite what will be in the
shopping bag.
Brandy, port, two packs of thermal clothing.
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