At home, they fill a cabinet.
At the store, they live in the trunk.
I remember them right after checkout.
It says my order is nearby.
Nearby apparently means three towns over.
I watch the little truck icon like it owes me money.
I pull gently.
It knots immediately.
Then it catches on a chair, a rock,
and possibly my character.
I sit down fine.
Getting up becomes a small engineering project.
I make one quiet sound and hope nobody files a report.
A cold drink that stayed cold.
Not forever.
Just long enough.
That was plenty.
# # #
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Steady on,
Bill Black
Porch Caretaker, Humble Observer
A few more that read like a good exhale:
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