At The End Of The Day

Sometimes, at the end of the day,

I wonder what it was I did:

Today I shopped at Walmart— the guy ahead of me 

buying a skillet, two glasses, forks and knives.

He was young, impassive, dressed for labor, good boots.

I wanted to ask: Was he setting up house?

Did he have a woman? Anything at all.

But didn’t because he never looked back,

and never smiled. The clerk, a young woman

way overweight, knew it was none of her business too.