Father returns to fight the famished crowd

for one forgotten item—

we stare at our laps,

fidgeting in vinyl seats,

while Mother leans back, amused,

people-watching in the parking lot—

a theater of strangers

with unfinished stories.

She reads and rewrites them,

composing a new life

for each stranger  

drifting in and out of view,

until one anchors her gaze—

an old man in the swell of chaos

stoops to lift

a grounded bird.

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