After Second Shift ~ Lowell Jaeger

She’s stopped to shop for groceries.

Her snow boots sloshing

up and down the aisles, the store

deserted: couple stock boys

droning through cases of canned goods,

one sleepy checker at the till.

In the parking lot, an elderly man

stands mumbling outside his sedan,

all four doors wide to gusting sleet

and ice.  She asks him, Are you okay?

He’s wearing pajama pants, torn slippers,

rumpled sport coat, knit wool hat.

Says he’s waiting for his wife.

I just talked to her on the pay phone 

over there.  He’s pointing at

the Coke machine. What pay phone?

she says.  That one, he says.

It’s cold, she says and escorts him inside.  

Don’t come with lights

and sirens, she tells the 911 

dispatcher.  You’ll scare him.

They stand together. The checker

brings him a cup of coffee.  

They talk about the snow.

So much snow.

They watch for the cop.

This night, black as any night,

or a bit less so.