The whole world is going crazy.
I should be worrying about the election right now
but I'm distracted because
I saw a boy in a trench coat,
not a creepy trench coat, or an ugly one,
not stained with the tears of late nights or pitted with cigarette burns and the such.
It was brown, camel brown, caramel brown, I-will-never-forget-you brown, drive-in movie brown,
second grade brown, art teacher brown, brown like the last bitter sip of cocoa, sitting on your mother's lap at night.
His hair was the color of sand dunes, and the coat complemented it.
He looked, in the best way, like a camel,
although that doesn't sound very nice.
I wish I could have walked up to him,
complimented his trench coat,
struck up a conversation, told him I had one that was pink like bubblegum, and Christmas carols, and slippers.
But we were in a Hannafords,
and even though he seemed lovely, camel-like, and time seemed to slow just a bit around him,
even though he looked sweet and kind and I was feeling brave,
I didn't go say hi
because we were in a Hannafords and the whole world was going crazy
and I hate how I look and I was embarrassed because our cart was full of clearance food
and he was busy and we were all wearing masks.
So today I'm distracted because
I might have just missed my soulmate –
a boy in a Hannafords wearing a brown trench coat.