Outside Kroger, a woman beats fists against car window
to wake her old dad locked in, engine thrumming
to the blare of the afternoon race. “It’s okay,”
she says, pausing to each passers-by.
“He’s just sleeping.” Oblivious, he moves
a hand to shield his eyes, unweilding
to daughter’s knocks, her shaking
the car with all her weight. I can’t
stop watching from my car, imagining
catastrophe: the ice cream melting, meat spoiling
in the unseasonable sun. For all I know,
he’s still resting there, and his daughter
took a cab home. As for me, uneasy–
I just left without any groceries at all.