no one dreams when they’re young
of being poor
or becoming a drunk
standing in the checkout line
fishing through a bag of pennies
and counting them out
one by one
for the young blonde girl
who looks nervously
my way as you ramble on
smelling of booze and cigarettes.
i’ll admit to stepping back
and keeping some distance
as you lean in
proceeding to invite me
into your world
through incoherent words
thrown around between hacking
coughs and waiting on my
reply which remains stuck
in throat so all i can
offer in return
is non-judgmental
silence. and as you
stumble away raving about
the holiday i’m left wondering
how life turned out this way
for you (and more than you)
while the checkout girl
whispers an apology
that doesn’t need
to come.
