The General Store
by David Johnson
Our General Store was brighter then,
The penny candy glistened
And seated ’round an iron stove
Old men smoked, and lounged, and listened
Ms. Hartley came and bought her goods
A bolt of silk, a sack of flour, some hearty joe
Ben Grayson gladly ground her beans
And packed her purchases to go
While out in front her wagon stood
In the sunshine of the day
Her horses, Pete, and Emily
Were eager to be on their way
The stove is gone, the men have passed
The penny candy is no more
And not a single resident
Remembers that old store
Those peaceful days in sleepy towns
Have finally come to pass
Our general stores have gone
But local commerce lingers on
But the worn antiques of days gone by
Remain to tell their tales
Of coffee milled, and orders filled
These tools of yesteryear prevail
This location’s now a parking lot
Behind it is an antiques store
And in the window stands this mill
Not ten feet from where it stood before
Funny how our world moves forth
To swallow up our past
It happens at the speed of rust
And even then — it seems too fast
Four generations have sped on by
With lifetimes spent to grind those beans
Countless clerks have come and gone
Nameless, faceless, lost in time
Just think, someday the tools we use
Will be cast aside and used no more
Or maybe they’ll go on display
In a dusty antiques store
The likes of you and I won’t care
Our sturdy tools will win the day
Because we’re made of flesh and blood,
Like General Stores, we’ll pass away.
