Monday, July 16, 2018

At Fry's Marketplace by Sharon Waller Knutson

An old lady with wrinkled brow,
mud puddles under her eyes,
lipstick smeared teeth, glares
at me in the rest room.
To get away from her, I walk
up to the seafood counter.

But I see her reflection
peering through the glass
at the shrimp curled up
in their shells and the crab
cooling their long legs
next to the Coho Salmon.

She follows me through
the deli, bakery and produce
to the checkout stand,
fumbles through her purse
and fans out five colorful cards
like she’s in a Vegas casino

and has a Royal Flush.
The dark-haired clerk,
a clone of her younger self
with 20/20 vision, quick
thinking and fast fingers,
picks out two cards,

scans the yellow card, slides
the blue card in the slot, smiles
and hands her the receipt.
Then the old lady steals
my cart and my groceries
and drives off in my car.

Sharon Waller Knutson, a retired journalist and online bookstore owner, writes poetry from her Arizona desert home. Her work has appeared in The Orange Room Review, Literary Mama, Verse-Virtual, Wild Goose Poetry Review and Your Daily Poem. She is the author of five chapbooks: Dancing with a Scorpion, My Grandmother Smokes Chesterfields, Desert Directions, They Affectionately Call Her a Dinosaur and I Did It Anyway.


  1. Hopefully this isn't a true story, though I've seen, and been in several of those scenes!!

  2. I think her accomplice was tailing me at the hospital (and then the café!) yesterday...