From the checkout line in the supermarket

I notice the sun duck behind clouds and blue
sky turns gray. I feel the last of winter 

finger its way between the sliding glass
doors as shoppers enter and leave. V8 juice

costs eighteen cents an ounce, my yogurt brand’s
not available and the distilled water shelves empty.

The phone rings. My son wants to borrow the truck.
He’s just back from fly-fishing. Two avocados

run five dollars and fifty cents. He hooked
a fourteen-inch native rainbow trout. I bag 

my groceries to leave the store with one hand
on the phone. He watched fish swim up North

Creek to spawn then beheld an entire school jump
the falls, heading upstream, right under his line.