by Larry Schug
this young guy,
workin’ dude, I’d guess,
cap on backward,
sleeves ripped off his t-shirt at the shoulders,
just being respectful,
true to good upbringing,
holds open the door of the Holiday store
for an old guy I see reflected in the glass—
it’s me. Holy crap, it’s me.
I’m an old guy.
When did it happen that people open doors
I can open my own god damn door.
I’m the one who holds doors open for old folks.
I think, I’m gonna tell that young pup
what’s up and I do;
I walk past him;
right next to the Nut Goodies
I nod once,
whisper like a truck on gravel