He’s b4 me in the checkout line, checking out my stuff.

I check out his. A 6-pack, some peaches,

a couple of steaks.

He has blue

eyes, not your typical come-on smile.

 

I nod imperceptibly.

There’s muzak. It’s the 3rd of July.

Outside, the heat is frying eggs on the

sidewalk.

He winks. Brushes a stray black hair from his forehead.

I’d eat everything in your basket, he grins.

It’s not my usual market.

Photo & Poem by Alexis Rhone Fancher

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© 2009