She disappears through the doors
while I’m still trying to find
a parking place

Her sweet scent wafts
around the kiosk
“You are here,” it says
I think that debatable

A fat guy philanderer
smiles at her recent depression
left in his lap
I decline to follow suit
suspicious of his red & white motives

A shop keeper gives me
a receipt
says she left it in her hurry to elude me
didn’t say what she bought
but, there are two zeros in the total
and the last four digits of the credit card
are mine

A choir sings standing
I glimpse her face
hear her voice
harmony hangs reverberates

Look again into every face smiling
but, not hers
not anywhere

I am here
apparently, she is not

Might as well shop