the sale price

in a slight mumble
the man
stares at his receipt
that dangles
from his curled hand
and points
at a line of numbers
printed in purple
faded ink.
that's not right
he says,
the line behind him
growing longer.
his wife with hands
on the cart
shows no
sign of impatience.
whether love
or life together it
makes no
difference, she stands
and waits beside him.
that's not the sale price,
he tells the clerk
who shakes her
head and pushes the button
for help.
the line sags,
help comes.
they give him what
he want, together they
push the cart out
and move on.