The Sick Wife

The sick wife stayed in the car
While he bought a few groceries
Not yet fifty
She had learned what it’s like
Not to be able to button a button

It was the middle of the day—
And so only mothers with small children
And retired couples
Stepped through the muddy parking lot

Dry cleaning swung and gleamed on hangers
In the cars of the prosperous
How easily they moved—
With such freedom
Even the old and relatively infirm

The windows began to steam up
The cars on either side of her
Pulled away so briskly
That it made her sick at heart