It's so hard to manage it all,
To instruct those who won't be taught,
To remember why my underwear is in the trunk,
How to follow the lanes with my cart.
It's no wonder I stand in awe
At the lady in the Walmart parking lot
Who carefully pulls a bicycle off the roof of a car,
Smooths out and folds the blanket underneath.
She has roller blades around her neck,
A large bag of clothes by her feet,
Hair cropped and bleached like a real estate agent,
Talking to no one the shoppers can see
As she puts the bicycle back on the roof
And straps it in with the same leather belt.
I crack open my window to let in some air and
Instantly she's speaking as if we haven't talked in years!
Like me, she's been taken apart by this life we're supposed to lead.
But unlike me, she refuses in any way to indicate
Whether the car her life seems to revolve around
Is really hers.
