Saturday at the Pre-owned Super Store
It's every inch a February day.
The sharp wind chills our bones beneath
the sky's deep shroud of misting gray.
We do not want to be here. Need ensnares
and pulls us. We put on its tightened face
which mirrors what each guest will wear
when need compels them here to greet us. They
need, we need. It's a sad exchange. The hours
pass, scenes in a long unhappy play.
The sharp wind chills our bones beneath
the sky's deep shroud of misting gray.
We do not want to be here. Need ensnares
and pulls us. We put on its tightened face
which mirrors what each guest will wear
when need compels them here to greet us. They
need, we need. It's a sad exchange. The hours
pass, scenes in a long unhappy play.
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Author's Note
From life in the car business
Other stories by Gary Hardaway
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Oh, pure misery. Fave*
I like this, Gary. I've felt this feeling before.
"We put on its tightened face
which mirrors what each guest will wear"
Good poem.
Been there, Gary, you capture it well. *
This reads like February or may be November.
Great piece - vivid, easy to imagine.
Good subtle unobtrusive form here. I like especially like this line: "We do not want to be here. Need ensnares" *
Thanks everyone for reading and remarking. I am grateful.