Here it is. I'll probably write more as I go to the pharmacy more. It's an interesting place.
La Farmacia
A mother stands in the checkout line,
well dressed, death-grip on youth,
arguing with the cashier, her son
silent behind, worn like an unwanted
accessory. Perhaps there is love
between the two, but it is not worn
for the eyes to see, like the tight
lime green shirt or the impeccable hair.
Another mother drifts behind a nearly
empty shopping cart, a disinterested
teen floating in her shadow, a sliver
of a mirror accurate only in the face.
The girl breaks off from her mother
and wanders, as the pharmacist waits
to complete the transaction--
two prescriptions
iced tea
toilet paper
But the mother rushes away, muttering
anti-itch cream
as her eyes scan the signs down
aisles. The daughter returns while
the mother still searches for her salve,
unsure of what to do in her absence
until, with a triumphant waddle,
the mother arrives. Though there
was a moment of separation, they stay
together as they leave, a connection
deep and unsaid and realized only
in those empty moments.
The pharmacists turn blind eyes
and practiced smiles towards
the pill-soaked lepers, rattling
their bottled chains behind
the counters. They work slowly
but shatter silence in rapid
pulses of pointless activity.
My name floats, mumbled over
the loudspeaker.
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