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The boon of twenty
barely warrants use
of shopping cart.

Normalcy, the pretense of,
is bringing small skips
amidst his everyday shuffle,
even smiles for those
who’d not return his joy.

“Paper or plastic?”

“Plastic, my dear,”
she cringes from his hand.

Sunshine smiles again,
and three bags full.

Tuna saved for winter’s warmth,
eggs to boil, savored for weeks to come,
and third,

the apples, red and green,
to share with friends
communing needs
of society,
half-gloved.

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