At the Prescription Counter

At the Prescription Counter

The smiling young pharmacist asks
- may I help you?
I smile back and give her my name.
With her sparkling, bright eyes she asks
-what is your date of birth?
The formalities over she gets the packet.
I reach for my wallet -- it’s not there.
With apologies, I tell her
-I forgot it, I’ll go home and get it.

A quick drive home to find the billfold
there on the floor      -then back
to the drugstore to the cheery clerk.
Is there a point explaining it fell
from my pocket while dressing?
I try.
On the faces of the four behind the counter,
     that look.
Another old man,
an old man who forgets,
make allowances,
he’s an old man.

Don’t things fall from pockets
of young men?

Photo (staged)