the woman behind me
says
she feels sorry for old

people having to wait,
how their knees and hips
must ache

more than muscles
simply
being sore or the red-eyed

awfulness
of saying goodbye, then sobbing
into coffee

kick-starting
the shame of morning
which progresses to guilt

pounding my head
like a rough edged brick.
There is nowhere

to hide
and this is why I'm anonymous
in the queue

talking about the problems
of decrepitude
without thinking of you.

Volume 2, Issue 1, 2007