One-Trip Grocery Haul

I gathered it all up
into my arms, laden
as a one-trip grocery haul.
I gathered the sense.
The old woman across
the street, watching me as
her silk pip cat would.
It was raining and I had ran.
Slammed up on the door,
forehead tripod, key fumbler.
“How does this look, Fran?”
“Are you not satisfied?”
When you are old, you can delight
in one younger, sopping
gripping slippery knob,
tripping through hinged barrier.
Dripping duct upon the wood,
I was not in the mood
for withered, hidden eyes.


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