Who Is Going In?


Overweight, over sixty,
posture stooped,
gait cramped. The similarity,
I must admit, cannot be denied.
When they walk they look down
at the ground, make sure of their steps.
in all likelihood carefully considering their balance,
wherein an ordinary street is like a tightrope
across Niagara falls. When you get this way
you miss a lot, observers like me
in the parking lot, those ornamental clouds
with which the sky is dotted.

Here comes a lady, carrying a bunch
of clothes she just picked up at the tailor
next door. She dumps them in her car,
then looks up at the pharmacy, as if trying
to decide if there is anything she really needs;
shrugs, and climbs in,
likely too tired for more shopping, for another store.

The car in front of mine
has both doors open on one side,
probably a workman’s
making repairs or deliveries.
But then a lady comes out of the pharmacy
on a mechanized wheel-chair
which she pulls up to
the right side of that car. One button,
one push, and she is inserted.
Automatic from beginning to end.
The doors close, and she drives away.
So now it is my turn.
I hobble in for my meds.