Poetry | Self-Care

The Cashier Who Had Trouble Breathing

I wondered if it was COVID and she wasn’t wearing gloves

Image by Liquid artiste Arya on Unsplash.com, text and frame by author

I wonder, then try to ignore
that I’m holding my breath
under my paper mask
as she rings up chocolate covered banana popsicles,
until she says, “I can’t breathe” again.

I regret having
bargain items covering the whole black check-out stand,
Bubbie’s pink horseradish — a find,
frozen chile rellenos, Challenge whipped cream,
Amy’s Pad Thai, chicken and vegie burritos.
Black Lives Matter,
in the back of my mind
which does not like to be unkind,
I ask if she needs a break,
needs water,
someone else can take over?
She looks up to get air
and down, stamping prices,
COVID? Her bare hands touching my tofu…
people of color more likely to get COVID-19,
organic apples, pears, rooted lettuce,
she touches her chest, it isn’t funny.
stroke? egg roll wraps, chunky peanut butter,
I ask if it’s her mask, thick
over her mouth, not nose.