by A. A. Parr
for the shopkeeper
I know you’ve noticed
me, my wet boots pooling,
my sharp eyes peering out
from behind the tipped brim
of my latest fashion “don’t”.
I know you’ve summed me up,
are now mentally rehearsing
the script you’ve just written
to tell me in the kindest way,
No, sorry, we don't offer that.
But I also know you wonder
just a little, just for a moment,
if maybe dry boots aren’t worth
a damn at all, if maybe I might ask
for the one thing you can offer.
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