Progress Closed Doors

I remember the old store vaguely.
Smell of the owner’s cigar, 
how frost rose up to cool my face
while I picked an ice cream cup,
wooden scoop served as a spoon.
My grandfather talked to the owner
as I licked the sticky sweetness
already melting from the heat of the store.
Bottles of R.C. Cola, root beers,
candy cigarettes, back before everything
needed a warning stamped on it.
My first puppy came from a litter
that the owner’s dog had, free 
to a good home, the sign read. 
I don’t know what happened 
to the owner when progress
shut the store doors, now it’s
a run down building at the end
of a road, a road I still
don’t call by it’s street name.
I call it by the owner’s name,
the same as everyone else.
These were the years when 
I could proudly give the man
a nickel to dig candy out of
a large barrel, sitting at the
entrance, one gas pump
and people waited patiently.
Nobody was in a hurry back then.
My children will never know
how wonderful a one cent
piece of gum tasted, heavenly. 

donetta sifford 7-20-2014

Written for Mag 229 


8 responses

  1. Very wistful. It reminds me of stories my grandparents and parents used to tell me. Thank you for sharing this beautiful memory 🙂


  2. Nice to be around then . . . . nicer than now

    Loved the take and nicely written

    🙂 Eddie

    Clouds and Silvery Linings

  3. We lost something , didnt we ..far more than a store… Soon we will learn that efficiency is not resilience .., thanks..its great

  4. yes- that's how I feel too!

  5. Ahhh, memories Long live nostalgia. Beautifully worded writing about times past.

  6. lovely.. how i wish i lived those times… they sound amazing!!

  7. Vive la nostalgie…

  8. Exactly – very true words spoken in this poem, raw nostalgia with honest value.

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