he unloads his cart
painstakingly
item by item
with twisted, tired hands:

the eggs,
the mouthwash,
the gingerale

and the checkout girl rolls her eyes-
old man, who cares
if your breath stinks?
if your stomach sours?
some of us
still have living to do;

his wallet is as lined as his face
but he pays
with a crisp green bill

“see you next week,” she says.
her eyes never sparkle.

he takes his bags
and does not smile at her.
his shoulders are straight.
he has lived,
and is no fool.

little girl, one day you’ll know.