Check-out Line by Greg Clary

Ducked into the Dollar Store
for a couple of things
 I could not live without.

Scanning-out ahead of me was an unmasked dude
who I recognized as a bartender I had
tangled with some 40 years ago.

I glanced at his purchases:
bag of chips, quart of milk, Mountain Dew, and
Bed Bug Killer.

The person behind me was an unmasked woman 
I had drunk beer and shot pool with 40 years ago.
In the bartender’s beer joint. 
I glimpsed her basket containing
paper plates, duct tape, Mountain Dew, and
Preparation H.

I was masked-up with dark glasses
under a camo hoodie. My pandemic look.
They didn’t seem to know me.

I thought of the serendipity of all this.
 Standing between a guy who once threatened to kick my ass and
 a woman who once ran her fingers through my hair. 

On the same night in the same bar.

Our 40 year reunion.
Him with Bed Bug Killer. Her with Preparation H.
Me with Little Debbies.

Greg Clary is Professor Emeritus of Rehab and Human Services at Clarion University, Clarion Pa. His poems have appeared in The Watershed Journal and North/South Appalachia.

His photographs have been published in The Sun Magazine, Looking at Appalachia, and The Watershed Journal.

He resides in Sligo, Pennsylvania and is a Son of Turkey Creek, West Virginia