D.A.V. Thrift Store by Greg Watson

Another nowhere job in my early twenties was
the D.A.V. Thrift Store on University Avenue,
unloading and pricing junk merchandise
as it rolled in off the box trucks.

Used toasters, baby strollers, bedding,
odds and ends, those old man cardigan sweaters
which I had suddenly grown fond of.
Harry, already in his 60s, black brille-cremed hair,
pencil mustache, blue-green Merchant Marine
tattoo fading into itself, chain-smoked
throughout the workday, shaking his head
in wonder at the myriad things
people were willing to pay money for.

He had eyes for Gina, the young, blonde cashier,
doughy-faced, quiet, and disarmingly naive.
Then, there was the middle-aged man who had
been permanently banned from the store
for obsessively sniffing women's shoes,
kneeling before the rack in a form of obeisance
or defeat, a grossly tragic or comedic form of
loneliness, depending on your perspective.

We were all doing time in our own way,
students, retirees, and the occasional criminal,
going nowhere on a daily basis.
Except, as it turns out, Harry and Gina,
who ran away together without notice, sending
a postcard-sized photo back months later
of no determinable location: trees bent
into question marks, and long grass waving,
sparks of blue water in the background.

"Wish you were here," was all it read.
And I would venture that every one of us,
without exception, certainly did.



Greg Watson's work has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies. He is the author of nine collections of poetry, most recently The Sound of Light. He is also co-editor with Richard Broderick of The Road by Heart: Poems of Fatherhood.