Give us the old-time general store
With pungent sawdust on the floor
The big icebox and its walk-in door,
And a stock boy dawdling with his chores.
The grocer smiled when you paid him cash,
With ample apron and a big mustache,
He handed candy to the kids
From big glass jars with widemouthed lids.
You traded butter, eggs and cream,
And wandered around in a diner’s dream;
Amber wedges of longhorn cheese,
He’d cut a bite if you asked him please.
The open cracker box nearby
Inviting everyone to try;
He stored his coal-oil cans far out,
A tater stuck on the pouring spout.
Lamp chimney, too, all packed to go
We’d break one every week or so
Gay-colored thread on tiny spools,
Calico prints and garden tools.
A big iron stove, black pipe, some chairs
Where oldsters settled the town’s affairs.
A room piled full of good, plain things,
Stuffed into sacks and tied with strings;
“Dry goods and notions,” how well I see
That faded sign in my memory.
