Abandonment

Pretending to imagine a hereditary connection between myself and this small woman purchasing pills in line in the pharmacy in the next town in the afternoon where I am glazed as a wheelbarrow covered in rain. Are we dying or only sick with something we'll cure with pills? I wish we had talked more as a family, known more about each other as people. Why didn't I listen to her stories about the rings she wears? The pen she uses to write the plain blue check is one taken from a local real estate office. It's the office I used to arrange the lease of my house. So many connections between us and yet we stand in line facing one direction, one death, and she cannot see me and I am not seeing anything clearly.