men
of a certain age,
my father would drive ten
miles
for cheaper gas,
saving, but
not saving
as he went out of his way
for three
cents less
per gallon.
i'd drive his silver
Chevrolet, as he
sat beside
me,
finding his credit card
in his wallet,
sorting through the coupons
and receipts.
it was a long
day of shopping, looking
for the day
old bread,
the bin
where they kept the aging
meat.
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