Another Sunday morning: time for the weekly ritual. I arrive early, early enough to beat the crowds. I enter the doors, list in hand, select a shopping cart and cut my way through the aisles as if lives were at stake. I nod to employees – I’m an alumnus in good standing – never slowing down until I arrive at the olive oil. She’s dressed for church, coming or going is unknown and can’t reach the top shelf. In my mind we chat about the differentiation of extra and plain old virgin. In actuality she thanks me and calls me young man. I guess over eighty-years old, everyone is young. I pack the bags in the back seat.
talons seek breakfast
also called the fish eagle
sun reaches zenith
This Haibun Monday the prompt is extraordinary days at d’Verse poets pub.