The English Department Buys Canned Soup

He was standing in line behind a cart of beer,

looking for his wallet in a coat that was fraying.

Mr. Henderson, who used to quote King Lear,

was arguing with a coupon that wasn't paying.

His heels were scuffed and worn down to the side,

and his eyes had the flat, tired look of the commute.

He wasn't the man who made the classics collide,

just a guy in a line who looked small in his suit.

The plastic basket hit the belt with a thud,

a bottle of wine and a tray of frozen peas.

I watched the legend dissolve into the mud

of a Tuesday night and a pair of shaky knees.