Pharmacy Back Room

sometimes I’d go there after deliveries slowed
and makeshift jobs taunted anger.
sometimes I’d hear the whispers
covered by silence, just one
word or two, an adjustment made,
the couple listening before
building their excitement again.
sometimes I’d be jealous
and tap the door in my
fantasy but status excluded me
and the thin white skirt
would be raised to exposure
by fingers too neatly trimmed
by hands too softly probing.
sometimes in frustration I’d sneak
away waiting for their emergence,
watching them holding hands,
my girl going back to the cash register,
he back to counting pills.