CASHIER spins in the stale air
I barely recall the sounds of
laughter from the counter
C A S H I E R
spins in the stale air
I’m hiding in an alcove of mysteries and thrillers
everyone is a stranger here, except for the ones that aren’t.
The ghosts of regulars float to the counter,
tap the wood with their used paperback treasures.
But you’re not there to greet them.
They see me hiding behind the bin of bargin records
in voiceless words they ask me if
I’ve heard from you lately.
No one here sees the ghosts
No one here feels the emptiness
They smile, laugh, drink coffee, type on laptops,
No one here seems sad
/ / /
March 16, 2016
State College, PA