Aisle Seven, Full Duration

It wasn't famous. No collective

grief attached. Just yours, and mine,

and that October road, your car,

the window cracked. I thought I'd find

it easy to forget — and I had.

It turns out that's not hard to do

with a song nobody else plays.

Then Tuesday, and the caulk aisle. You

were in the overhead speaker.

Or what belonged to you was there.

I had what I came for in both hands.

I stood still in the commercial air

for the full length of it.

The verse. The bridge. The key

lifting those eight bars before the close —

the part you'd always turn up. Me

standing there with my arms full.

You always turned it up. I don't know

why that detail stayed when other things

softened and went. The song let go

and ended. Someone's cart went past.

I walked to the register. Paid.

Caulked the window frame that night.

Pressed my thumb along the bead

until it smoothed. Even. Cool.

Already setting.