Poem: At The Supermarket

At The Supermarket

The little girl is staring
at me.  She is only six
or seven, I think, not
that I am good at guessing
the ages of children
since I do not have one
myself.  She is young,
the girl staring at me
is young, so
when she says
to me, "you are
really, really fat,"
I try not to be hurt,
but look to her mother
standing there, thinking
she might apologize.  I
catch her eye, she knows
what was said, can guess
what I must want.
She smirks at me,
"well, she's right, she is just
telling the truth.  I
teach her to be honest."

She is laughing, they both
are laughing.

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