I fill a space in the line leaning
on the rail outside Penney’s.
We shuffle and twist like horses hitched
outside a Wild West saloon.
Mobiles scroll to check
the football scores and confirm
our bargain hunters’ late return.
Arm linked couples drift by, smirking
at the over fifty membership
of the parked husbands club.
One young man tosses back
a rueful glance as he is steered
towards the lingerie section.
From: Wind Reaper and other Poems 2020
The Scribbler Griffin 