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Four hundred sixteen Four hundred seventeen

I shut my eyes, tired of the furrowed brows and the sneers fro out their carts If I don’t see them, they won’t exist I won’t hear the screaht His body relaxed init was over—that ere done I tried to walk hiroceries where they lay And that’s when he got me with his teeth

My arms are so tired When Max is like this, it’s like he’s possessed with super strength, and it takes all I have inhimself This little boy, barely five—I don’t knohat I’ll do when he’s ten, fifteen or…

Sometimes I can send ets so ho so is almost worse But today? Today, I don’t know I think I’d pick the pastry meltdown

I had to park far Not in our spot He was edgy then, shuffling his feeton his toes Then the bread aisle was blocked because ere later than noro down the bread aisle first

Always

But today we couldn’t And soan, careful to co his skin to anything foreign

We gathered our sroceries And ere almost out the door

Almost

I felt the handle slipping Like slow motion, I saw it all play out intore open, and the apples—Max’s apples—all rolled onto the ground—the dirty ground And Max had met his match

“What a spoiled brat!” the woman says as she shoves her plastic purse in the top basket of her shopping cart

All I can do is s with that smile That I’m sorry my son has autism, and that I don’t kno to hide it from you

Max’s grip is loosening even s finally fill up

I look back at the apple

Four hundred sixty-one Four hundred sixty-two

Today, I will make it hoain…not today I’ll send ive hiht