Poem by Emily-Sue Sloane

On the Line

No amount of swiping
coaxed money from the card,
the card she insisted held $150.
The cashier, calm and kind,
tested the card over and over
until they had to agree:

no money no groceries.

The woman apologized
to the cashier,
to the line of customers,
a line that snaked halfway
down a long aisle,
no one huffing or puffing
or complaining
except to wonder why
only one register was open
on a late Monday morning.

I’m so embarrassed
her parting words.

The cashier flipped the belt switch.
The air fizzed again
with the buzz of business.
A woman next in line
asked the cashier
did that happen often.
First week of the month, he said,
the cards sometimes don’t work.

So this wasn’t just some credit card mishap.
This was a broken lifeline.

That must have been hard for you, I said
as I watched my credit card pass muster.
Patience, I’ve found the secret to patience,
the philosopher-cashier said,
don’t anticipate.
His reply not what I expected.

At home with cupboards restocked
my questions lingered:

What about the ones
who will go hungry tonight?
If I had been next in line,
could I have covered her bill?
Would I have?

This poem first appeared in MockingHeart Review.

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BIO: Emily-Sue Sloane is an award-winning Long Island poet who writes to capture moments of wonder, worry and human connection. She is the author of a full-length poetry collection, We Are Beach Glass (2022), and a chapbook, Disconnects and Other Broken Threads (The Poetry Box, 2024). Her poetry has appeared in numerous print and online journals and anthologies. For more information, please visit EmilySueSloane.com