The screen door slams and the headlines cry
Ike! and Ted Williams!
while the Philco way in the back cranks out
The Ballad of a Teenage Queen
My Red Ball Jets pad reverently
over the oil-darkened hardwood past the
register’s ka-ching-promise of
Indian head pennies in your change…
Down the aisle of warped shelving
stacked like the walls of Jericho
the Prince macaroni boxes elbowing
the Campbell soup cans
Through the ripe-banana
apple-onion medley
with its pungent tang of white cheddar
from the cheesewheel-under-glass
Past glass-bottled fresh white milk
chilling in the refrigerated window display
bottle-capped with collectable redeemable
half-dollar-size cardboard discs
And on down to the back where
sea-glass green Coke bottles languish like
lobsters neck-deep in the ice water of
the open-top fire-engine-red holding tank
Beneath the fading, once festive
Fanta, Fudgesicle, Moxie and Necco signs
and all those dangling amber banana-curls of
slime-gummy fly-paper, houseflies raisin-glued
Above the jaundiced jars of pickled eggs
pickled spiced sausages and those wax-papered
Italian sandwiches stacked atop the meat counter
calling my name
