Poem by Elise Power

The Store on
Shakespeare Street

It feels like a funeral.
They’re closing a final door on the oatmeal,
the cage-free eggs,
the Bush’s Baked Beans (Original),
the frozen peas that flow from this old store
through our kitchens and into our skin,
our blood, our hearts.

Shakespeare is dead.
Where is he
now that I really need him? (Shall I compare thee to a Shop n Save?)
His street will be buried twice now.
They built the store and kept the name
and now the store and the name and the poetry
will soon be gone.

They’re packing up in boxes
the work of Myra, Bernice, Debra, Tom and Larry,
who smile for my camera on this Last Day.
Each of them for over forty years
has released the food to us and taken our money.
They have done this faithfully and together.

One aisle over as I pass half-empty shelves,
someone says to Larry, “Come sit with us.”
That’s it.
That’s what this day calls for most.
Customers and workers,
we all need to just come sit together
on that ledge beside the doors and the shopping cart,
as a summer storm tosses treetops
one last time
out beyond the streaming plate-glass windows.

About Elise Power: I am a member of Pittsburgh Poetry Exchange and have had poems published in six journals and newspapers. I draw portraits and caricatures and play bluegrass music and the piano. I am a retired public school teacher.