The Cost of Barbecue Sauce

He was picking up barbecue sauce at the Winn-Dixie,

Still contemplating being alone and in his sixties.

He looked down the cereal aisle,

And thought he recognized a smile

That glanced his direction, oh, so very quickly.

Within a moment his mind regressed fifty years,

Often painful times that cost him many tears.

No more than a child of sixteen,

Trapped, no mired, in between

His desires to grow up and the height of all his fears.

There she stood next to the stack of Life cereal boxes

She had aged well, gray, the extra weight life causes.

Fifty years kept repeating in his head.

A lifetime had passed, nearly every shred,

His marriage, his divorce, so many, many losses.

He strolled down the cereal aisle very slowly,

As if approaching a church pulpit that was holy,

Looked at Fruit Loops and Charms.

As he passed her, touched her arm.

She turned quickly but not in fright, at least not wholly.

"Excuse me," he said. "Helen, is that really you?"

"Why, yes," she answered. "Yes, how do you do?"

His name had slipped her mind,

Or else she was being kind,

And he meant so little to her she had no clue.

After a moment and a reminder, they shared their history.

The vastly abbreviated version that shares swiftly.

In town for her newest grandson,

His dad's hardware left for him to run.

Both still amazed they knew little of the world's mystery.

As quickly as the reunion began, the news grew lean

Between the second string halfback and homecoming queen.

Congratulations for her new infant,

Well wishes for his invest-ment,

Two nervous, aging smiles, they traded once again.

He complained to himself the price of barbecue sauce.

His loneliness covered like a thin protective gauze.

Fifty years between the same mistake,

"Could it have been, for goodness sake?"

A life filled mostly with complaining about grocery costs.