Waiting in Line

The beep of the scanner feels like a clock ticking—

my heart racing to keep pace with each thought,

dropped wallet, a slip of fate in the crowded space,

laughter drifts in from the woman ahead,

she spins stories like webs, while I fight the blush.

Plastic crinkles under my fingers, a nervous sign,

items on the belt, small reminders of life:

bread, milk, forgotten dreams,

I lose them, tumble down as I scramble—

I can’t look up, their eyes too sharp, too kind.

We share a breath, a weight of shared shame,

yet it stitches us momentarily—

I pick up the pieces, the gap shrinking,

waiting in line, unwrapping a glimmer of connection.