The children play, brick by brick by brick
scattered over the floor, a mess for
mothers’ admonishment. Theirs hangs around,
vulture of supervision; she flashes me
a grin that devours my guts by
the cashier counter. Patiently, patiently, like
a weasel of its store of game for sale, I
wait – the children continue playing, their
mother hawks commands to “hurry up and go”
(some elder vultures are waiting).
Chuckling to self, refraining a bile
of impatience from welling up, I bid the boys
leave the toys on the floor – my next chore.
Strange how vultures know compassion too!
Her mouth, now crinkling like granny’s,
raptures me ten seconds deciphering
dimples for answers.
The boys are gone. Dread drops its
talon-weight; the shop seems suddenly
too endless for its shelves, awaiting
the next batch of boys to come and
scatter its toys over the barren floor.
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