She counted pills without a look —

She counted pills without a look —

older hands, knuckled, moving sure

across the tray. The way a book

you've memorized turns pure

reflex. The paddle swept.

The pills lined up. She capped the bottle, slid

it toward me — I had barely kept

pace with the watching — and I did

say thank you. She was typing.

I took the bag and left. The drive

took longer than it needed. Fighting

nothing. Just alive

to the thought of the hands — no wreck

of doubt between the doing and the done.

I pause at everything. I check

and check. She swept the tray and moved on.