Casual Encounter

Long past middle age, when
hope for the future generally
subsides into a sighing gloom of
acceptance, it seemed at a cursory
glance that life had been quite
unkind to this man shrunk into
the cavity of himself, shabbily
dressed, canvass shopping bag
in hand, and a blankly confused
look approaching panic on his 
face. He was fumbling in his
coat pocket and so was I, wondering
where that quarter to redeem a
shopping cart at the supermarket
I'd stashed there had gone to.
Need a quarter? asked my wife
of the stranger as a wry smile
gathered momentum on his face.
One for him, another for me. 
He swiftly took possession of a
cart, but those in the lines I tried
were stuck fast. Before moving on
with his prize, the stranger applied
his slender weight to mine to force
separation, then we each nodded,
a good turn done, to get on with
the waiting grocery-gathering.