The woman had both cane and walker,
but the walker wasn't hers.
Stacked with all the plastic goodies
that they send you home with,
that and bags of clothes. Her husband's?
Boyfriend's? Sister's? Son's ?
New York tags. A plaid wool poncho
that belied the April afternoon.
I offered my assistance, but in thanking me
she said, "I think I've got it. "
Watching from my car, I would agree.
She didn't seem to be at risk for robbery
or falling but you never know --
a woman...old, alone.
The bags went in the back seat,
then the folded walker. If she groaned
when bending down to get her purse,
I couldn't hear. Next the cane,
the opening of the door and sitting down
with one leg hanging out,
the stretch to reach the handle.
It took both her hands
to pick that leg up from the pavement,
put it in the car. She closed the door.
Her safety now assured,
I left but now regret not following
her car up to the front to see
just who it was she loves so much
that now is back at home.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2022
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