February 12, 2026

I continue with my foray into narrative verse, this time imposing a little more order on the structure than I did with "The Buick." This is also a true story at its core, but I wonder how other people involved remember the incident. After all, we never were more than just casual acquaintances. Note: Some of the names have been changed (as I have forgotten them). 

The Shopping Cart

I've always wondered if in some home

Right now a group of grown children ask their

Matronly mothers to recount the tale

Of the shopping cart.

                               It might slowly start

With a giggle about college antics

Done by the not-always-demure daughters

Who waste no time in turning the tables:

"As if you can talk!" 

                              "That Sunnyside walk

You all would take from the dorm to the strip,

With one of you too trashed to make it home,

And you had to hit up guys at the bar

To haul her ass back."

                                 "Stop with the wisecracks,"

The Blondest mom sternly admonishes,

"Rach', you start the story, I'll get more wine,

Everyone shut up and you'll hear it all,

Like the times before."

                                  At the kitchen door

She heard her oldest friend tell it again:

"It was a usual Friday evening,

The four of us bored by the dorm scene put

On our tightest jeans."

                                  "That's just what I mean,"

Interrupted her first born, legs sprawled

'Cross the chair, to her co-conspirators,

"Can you believe our moms went out loaded

To bare their assets?"

                                "They were not fishnets,"

Her mother clawed back. "You want the story

Or not?" As the blonde sashayed back in 

With bottle of red and bottle of white,

And her evil eye,

                          Rachel let her by,

Held out her glass for a needed refill,

And took the room back almost five decades.

"Sunnyside was always the place to go

Packed bars, cheap beer."

                                      "Everyone was there!"

The third mom chimed in, reaching for the red.

"Wouldn't take long for boys to buy us rounds."

"Just hush," Rachel hissed at her antsy child,

"We three were careful." 

                                     "We'd get an earful

From our loving Mums. Sound familiar, girls?"

"Maryann, though," the third interjected,

"Was a whole different situation."

"And guys were aware."

                                    Her glass in the air,

Rachel swirling wine as she made the point,

"So getting her home was never easy

Since we were not allowed to have a car.

Well, on this one night."

                                    "Yeah, like just one, right?"

One of the daughters dared to interrupt.

"We are talking about just this one, right,

Darling, as you requested," Rachel sniped.

"Boy, was she crocked." 

                                      "No way she could walk!"

Vickie added, caressing her child's hair.

"We're debating if we should call a cab,

When two guys we knew came to chat us up.

What were their names, Vick?"

                                             The Blonde's reply quick,

"The cute one, Dave, the driver I forget."

(Sorry, Mike. Get your own damn narrative.)

The rest snickered at Vickie's reaction.

"Kim? Recall his name?"

                                    "Maybe something lame?"

"Damn, that's quite harsh, girl," Rachel berated

"Vickie take over telling the story

Since you remember so much about . . . Dave?"

Rachel downed her glass,

                                      Vickie didn't pass.

'Well, they agreed and went to get their car,

I decided to wait outside the door,

Rachel and Kim carried her swaying frame

Through the sweaty crowd."

                                          "We weren't to be cowed,"

Kim, that third mother, snorted from the couch,

"And we sure didn't want to get splattered

When the puke inevitably started,

But we caught a break. . . . 

                                        Her body went slake."

"Mom, who talks like that? 'her body went slake?"

"Shush, let us tell you this in our own way.

Vickie, go on, I rudely cut you off.

And pass the Merlot."

                                 "Up pulls an Arrow,

Parks halfway on the sidewalk, Dave hops out,

Opens the back doors, Rach shoves Maryann

Into the middle of the back, we squeeze

In as best we can,"

                             "Head of Maryann,

Lolling between the front seats," Kim reminds.

"And the Arrow speeds off toward the dorms,

With not one of us exchanging a word."

"We all watched that head."

                                         "Filled with freaking dread."

With Rachel's sudden expletive comment,

The six women all burst into laughter,

Clinked their now emptying wine glasses.

Each drew a deep breath.

                                      "Get on with the rest,"

Ordered Rachel, "I'm quickly getting tired."

"We're waiting for the stupid shopping cart,"

One of the daughters whined. "All in good time,"

Vickie placated.

                        "The bar vacated,

That yellow Arrow speeds up Stewart Street."

"You remember the car's stupid color?

Sometimes I worry about you, Mother."

"Interrupt again . . .

                               Or try to complain,

Your mothers and I will call it a night."

With silence as assent, Vickie proceeds,                              

"So, Dave's friend pulls into the parking lot,

We all tumble out,

                           When Kim has to shout

'Look at the distance we still have to go,'

The lot, lobby, ten stories awaited,

We would never get her up to our rooms

Without disaster." 
                           "With nervous laughter,"

Kim maintains, "we all were in agreement.

On top of it all we'd need to get past

The R.A., but Vickie salvaged the day."

"Cause the Kroger lights"

                                      "Were there in her sights," 

Rachel now finishing the sentences

Like the best long-time friends end up doing.

"She looked at us, saying 'I'll be right back,' 

The next thing we know"

                                     "Shopping car in tow!"

Whole room explodes as the punchline appears.

"I told Kim and Rach to push Maryann 

From the car, the guys ready to grab her.

I steadied the cart."

                              "Told you she was smart,"

Rachel radiated at her first friend.

"What can I say? I saw Animal House."

Vickie proudly proclaimed with a smile.

"It's about a frat"

                           "Jesus, we know that!"

"We got her in the cart," Rachel picked up,

"Although she was now completely dead weight,

Started wheeling her through the entryway

Past the R.A. Witch."

                              "She was quite a bitch,"

Kim couldn't resist adding from the couch.

"But those guys kept their heads down, Maryann

Bouncing every time the cart got stuck

On the damn throw rugs."

                                       "Dollar in the jug!"

Rachel's daughter piped up, "easy money."

Vickie took back over, needing to save

Rachel another dollar. "Took so long,

That elevator . . . "

                            "An aviator!

Dave's friend was a pilot, I remember,

Because he offered to give me a spin.

I'm ahead of myself, that came later,"

Rachel clamped her mouth.

                                        "Now that part comes out!

Anyway, we get to our floor, hallway

Looming ahead of us, rickety wheels

Echoing throughout the quiet building.

Maryann moaning."

                             "All of us groaning!"

Rachel exclaimed, "She hadn't barfed yet.

Surely Maryann wouldn't start now that

We almost had the cart to her bedroom."

"It was also mine," 

                             Kim, feeling the wine,

Had to correct. "So I prayed for longer."

"Anyway, we get the door open, lead

The guys to her bedroom, but the cart they

Just couldn't wrangle."

                                  "'Twas a tough angle,

Vickie. And by then we knew jostling

Her anymore would be a disaster.

And that's when the pilot recommended,"

"No way. It was Dave."

                                  Dismissed with a wave,

Rachel continued, "someone suggested 

The guys just pull her body from the cart

And carry her directly to her bed."

"Thank God, lower bunk."

                                      "The best for a drunk,"

Kim laughed, her wine glass hidden down below.

"So, pilot grabs her legs, leaving Dave arms,

Which he secures from under the armpits,

Going to get her . . . "

                                  "Up comes the sweater!

The six scream in unison. "And no bra."

Amidst the group's giggling and snorting 

Vickie cannot keep the story going, 

Not that all of them. . . 

                                  don't know the outcome.

Still, I like to think the crux of the tale

Is that Dave and his pilot friend ignored

The distraction and threw her on the bed,

"But she rolled right off!"

                                     One of them will scoff.

"But these two guys were so kind and polite,

They cracked no smile, nor covered no leer.

Offered to return the cart as they left.

Nothing ever said."

                            "Even as they fled!"

"After that, we saw them occasionally,

At bars and parties, even on the street.

We'd remark how gentlemanly they were,

But should have done more."

                                           "Yeah, Vick, done more, sure!"

So this is how I hope the story goes,

As I sure hope the story grows and grows

To something soon resembling folklore:

"See that shopping cart; I've a tale to start."