The Total

The black belt hums its treadmill song,

moving the milk and the bread along.

I set the plastic divider down,

a border between my life and the town.

The man ahead has a shaking hand,

counting out coins he’s carefully planned.

Three dull quarters and five worn dimes,

checking his pocket a few more times.

We stand in the fluorescent light,

waiting for numbers to make it all right.

Nobody speaks or catches an eye,

while the value of living goes ticking by.