A trip to the Salvation Army

I have a "funny" story to tell, but it's National Poetry Month, not National Short Story Month, so I'm going to improvise--which will be easy, because I don't feel like rhyming today anyhow. Free verse is my speciality! Let me also give you a disclaimer: This story is 100% true. I am not racist, I am merely reporting the facts of what I witnessed yesterday.

A trip to the Salvation Army. for April 17, 2013

The old woman in front of me had
c rac ke d, dry heels
and rusty wheels on her shopping cart
FULL of fur-hooded coats, athletic shorts and
a slim white belt                                       draped over the side.
She stood, her mouth puckered
in a raisin frown, her dark and slanted eyes
from behind thick-lensed glasses
impatiently regarding

the lady at the register.
She had
l      o      n      g
black hair
pulled back
in a tight ponytail, and confidence--or stress
--STRAIGHTENED her typically slumped shoulders.
It was early yet. She wasn't tired
yet. Leaning
over the counter, she watched the Chinese woman
just stand there, stationary and silently waiting,
and asked, "You want all of this?"

"YES, I WANT ALL!" she erupted. Then, like a
wave washing back into an ocean of
prejudice her angry demeanor
retreated back into an
impatient stare.

So the lady behind the counter with her
gracious smile said, "Can you take those off the hangers?"

And you might have expected them to work together
to speed the operation of buying second-hand duds
and get us all out of here, away from the 90s gospel
hip-hopping over the speakers and breaking the process
of scouring the shelves for a decent cookbook or
a pretty pair of pumps. But that didn't happen.

"What you say?"
A withered hand cupped around a deaf ear.

"Can you help me with all your hangers?"

"What you say?"
A bone-thin body lurched forward, toward the sound.

"Nevermind. It's fine." Again, her gracious smile
split her youthful face. But you could see her cinnamon skin
blanche white with tension at the knuckles as

the woman said, "Oh, the hangers. No,
you do! That your job. I'm
        surprise you ask.
               In Mexico,
                      they always do!"