Babooshka Salvation

People I owe; a small flock of
women with head scarfs
waiting like brightly colored parrots
in front of the Salvation Army store.

Crouching down in my technical clothing
on that cool fall day,
one of the old ones, her ankles thick and wrapped
in coffee colored hose, asked me;  Lost?
No, I replied. 

I could see the still thin ankles of the yougest one,
and wondered on what day hers too would become thick.

I listened to their talking, the rhythms grouped in
stew-like chunks; maybe hope was pulling my ears.

I asked the young dark girlish one, Romanian?
Yes,  Romanian. 

As it turns out I was somewhat lost,
as the women hovered,
old ones resting on benches, all enduring
the wait and then the line inside the store,
where a young babooshka received
each one in turn, carefully confirming names
to see if they had exceeded the free clothes
twice a month only limit. 

I turned to leave.

The manager followed me out, asked-
Why are you leaving?
I replied I was only waiting
for the tires to get changed on my truck, 
thought I could score some resale
and was willing to pay,
 had no time for such a long slow line.

So the hairpin pigeon old women,
standing stoutly and smiling,
(looking for all the world like my Romanian grandma
who half raised me, but I couldn't say),
was almost right, I was almost lost,
if not for her.

jms 2004