Nobody's Fault

I had my bags. I had my keys.

The lot was mostly empty—five o'clock,

a few stray cars, a cold breeze,

and this one cart in the middle of the block

of asphalt by the pharmacy end—

handle facing nothing, slightly cocked

to one side, nobody to attend.

No reason I could see. I clocked

two full minutes standing there

beside my car, bags in the trunk,

just looking at it. The air

was cold. The store doors sunk

back open for someone else.

I couldn't tell you what I wanted—

for it to mean something. The shelf

it came from, what it once held. Haunted

is too strong. Bothered, maybe.

Something about the angle,

the way it was just sitting. Lazily

aimed at nothing. The handle

still out like someone had just let go.

I got in. Pulled out. The cart

stayed where it was. I don't know

why I checked the rearview.

Still there.