moses in the parking lot

you can't remember
where you parked
your car,
or her name, linda?
melinda, kendra?
who sits and waits
inside as you
run in to buy
a heating pad for
your bad knee
and a pack of
cigarettes
and breath mints
for her,
menthol lights,
or was it camels?
is it spring, or
fall, so hard to tell
with the way
the weather is
these days. lot B,
or was it C.
you wander for a while,
with the other elderly
people who are
also wandering.
there is no sign
of moses, although
it wouldn't surprise
you to see him with a
robe and cane
and wintery beard
searching for his oxen
and cart. you nod and
tip your hat as
you pass the others,
their eyes glazed
over and they say hello
in return, nice day
isn't it? nice day to
be lost. oh there she is,
you finally say loudly
to know onem,
as you look
over towards the car
with a blaring horn.
the others follow you
like mice to cheese,
hoping, mistakenly,
that it might be
their car too.