Bad Breath and Audacity

I saw a lunch aide from my elementary school
at the local pharmacy the other night.
We used to call her thunderthighs
in the yard at recess.
But that night, I was able to pass by her
to get my toiletries.
Surely I could’ve chosen another aisle.

She still has oversized glasses
as uncool in ’93 as they are now.
Her body is seamless,
having no defined hips, stomach,
ass, nor breasts; just a protruding
bulge of sedentary lifestyle.
She wasn’t as large as I recalled—
it’s been over a decade since
I saw her last.

I was ahead of her in line as I
realized there were some
spearmints to the left of me.
I stepped out of line.
I’ll admit I’ve called others out
for doing so,
But I stepped right back into line,
still ahead of old thunderthighs.
I bought my things and was on my way.

Out to the car now,
I turn the key with my foot on gas
and caught myself looking
in the mirror,
distracted.
She stepped in front
of my car.