Waiting at the pharmacy
turning into a skeleton
in a seventies lawn chair
like slouch
while some kid
runs and cycle-kicks
the counter.
I wish I had
that much energy
I relay to myself in my head,
then the dad yells to the kid
"Knock it off."
The loudspeaker yodels
my last name like a
high school basketball coach
and I step right up
to the counter to collect
my flu med of
thirty potential side effects
only to walk outside into
a haze of sunlight
and '94 Ford truck exhaust.
Alyssa Trivett is a wandering soul from the Midwest. When not working two jobs, she chirps down coffee while scrawling lines. Her work has appeared in many places (including the trash bin), but most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review and Duane's PoeTree site.
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