I saw them first in the soup aisle,
an old Italian couple leaning in
to discuss chicken dumpling
with thick immigrant accents.
Her hair was thinning, but
in a perfect evolutionary coincidence
his back was so stooped he couldn't see.
He placed his spotted hand
on her forearm and smiled.
She placed the soup in their cart.
I saw them again in the checkout
as they waited awkwardly
for the manager to verify
their government assistance,
before paying the two dollars
and a few odd cents difference.
They drew woolen collars tight
against their necks. He pushed the cart
while she held onto his arm
as they passed into the cold night.
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