Holding Hands In The Fucking Pharmacy Line
Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead
floor squeaking under shoes that have seen too many double shifts and rainy days
You stand next to me with a paper slip in your hand
prescriptions folded like a secret
eyes glazed from a week of sideways haze
Kids whining in cart seats
old folks arguing with the clerk over copays that make no damn sense to anyone alive
Music from twenty years ago dripping out of cheap speakers while we wait for the call to arrive.
You look tired enough to fall over, hoodie half zipped
hair pulled through a band that lost its stretch months back
I can see the panic twitching at the corner of your mouth every time you look at the price list
running mental math on the attack
I slip my fingers between yours without a speech
just warm skin and a quiet little squeeze that says “yeah
this sucks, I see it too
” You lean your head on my shoulder for half a second
breathe out
and suddenly the buzzing lights feel a little less cruel.
We are holding hands in the fucking pharmacy line
not glamorous, not romantic by any glossy magazine take
You pick up meds that keep your mind from crashing into walls while I grab the stuff that keeps my lungs from going fake
This is not roses and candlelit shit
it is shared insurance headaches and jokes about side effects we cannot even pronounce when we ache
Holding hands in the fucking pharmacy line
two messed up bodies choosing each other while the system drools to take.
The clerk calls your last initial with a tone that says I have seen it all and none of it surprised me since last July
You step up, hand over your card
flinch when the total flashes
then catch my eye and shrug, laugh so you do not cry
I stand close enough that our shoulders touch while you sign the little pad that never works on the first swipe
Pocket the bag like contraband
as if staying alive and steady is some guilty type.
We walk down the aisle past vitamins, condoms
cheap wine, and candy, both of us moving slow
You say “I hate needing this shit
” I say “I hate that you feel bad for not white-knuckling your brain
” just so you know
Then I grab a stupid greeting card with a cartoon dog that looks vaguely stoned and shove it in our basket low.
We are holding hands in the fucking pharmacy line
not glamorous, not romantic by any glossy magazine take
You pick up meds that keep your mind from crashing into walls while I grab the stuff that keeps my lungs from going fake
This is not roses and candlelit shit
it is shared insurance headaches and jokes about side effects we cannot even pronounce when we ache
Holding hands in the fucking pharmacy line
two messed up bodies choosing each other while the system drools to take.
Later, on the couch
with your pill bottle on the table and mine rattling in your hand
You say “do you ever feel like we are held together with duct tape and generic brands
” I say “yeah, but look at us, still here
still ordering takeout
still arguing about which stupid movie to binge
still making plans
” You take your dose with a sip of water
lean into my side
and we toast with plastic cups to not falling through the cracks of this land.
Holding hands in the fucking pharmacy line
that is our version of staying up
Side by side while capitalism tries to wring us dry
while our bodies demand help we cannot always jam into neat little boxes on forms
Yet we keep checking the lines, keep turning up
keep standing when we can barely stand
Holding hands in the fucking pharmacy line, still here
still us
middle finger up in a paper gown to this whole scam.
Next refill day
when your shame starts creeping in at the edges like a tide
Remember my hand wrapped in yours under those ugly lights
and know I am not going anywhere
I am right there by your side.