He walked in to my store
One August afternoon.
He appeared to have just finished exercising,
as his once white, now transparent t-shirt
Clung to his cleanly shaven chest.
My eyes followed him
From behind the cash register
As he made his way to the fridge
To select the luckiest bottle of grape Gatorade
There ever was, is and will be.
He approached to cash,
A pleasant smile on his face
As he asked me,
And it took the wind out of me to reply