Senior Discount

I want to grow old with you.

Old, old.

So old we pad through the supermarket

using the shopping cart as a cane that steadies us.

I’ll wait at register two in my green sweater

with threadbare elbows, smiling

because you’ve forgotten the bag of day-old pastries.

The cashier will tell me a joke about barbers as I wait.

He repeats the first line three times

but the only word I understand is barber.

Over the years we’ve caught inklings

of our shrinking frames and hunched spines.

You’re a little confused

looking for me at the wrong register with a bag

of almost-stale croissants clenched in your hand.

The first time I held your hand it felt enormous in my own.

Sasquatch, I teased you, a million years ago.

Over here, I yell, but not in a mad way.

We’re laughing.

You have a bright yellow pin on your coat that says, Shalom!

Senior Discount, you say.

But the cashier already knows us.

We’re everyone’s favorite customers.