beauty and that

she's in aisle 7,
arms waving,
grabbing at nothing.
well, no, to be fair, she's grabbing at
something --
it's just something
I can't see.
she finally catches it,
she catches
whatever there was
to catch
and holds it close
in both hands,
cupping it protectively.

smiling warily,
she walks down aisle 7
and out of the shop

and I envy her
all these things,

price-labelling tins
as I am
in the midst of a
long
hard
sanity.