McCLURE'S GROCERY
We know how it was
without traffic
gathering pop bottles
in a rusty wagon
along the road
in the weedsa mile or more
discovering clear
crystal treasures
to the country store �
how it was to be rich
when you got there.
Two doors
beneath a red Pegasus,
the Flying A
brand of gas.
One opened darkly
beyond the neon blue
Burgie high in a small
window with cobwebs,
vague outline of
a few grumbling men
hidden in a cave.
The other bright beside
a stand of Marvel comic books,
inside walls of canned goods,
Sunbeam bread,On the counter
Marshall�s milk
and farm fresh eggs
in a brown paper bag.
penny candy, accounts
in a shoebox with
everybody�s name.
for Wilma Elizabeth McDaniel
I never know where the muse is headed when I start to write in the morning. This one goes back-aways to an all but forgotten time.