The Grocer

Trigger-Non graphic abuse

Childish joy at being able to cross the street,

was how the tale began.

I thought I’d have to wait until eleven.

yet,

there I was at seven,

tip toeing across with grandma’s permission.

Bright sunshine that matched my smile, left me at the door,

of the grocer’s store.

Joy faded with each shuffle of my feet.

A nervous waiting, replaced it.

My nose filled with the smell of stale darkness.

Somewhere a cat sped by.

I was standing at the counter, but I could not see,

everything was taller than me.

“Salem 100’s” I said to the air. ‘Is anyone even there?’

The grocer makes me wait, past my turn.

And past

the next person’s

turn.

He told me that I wanted to help him behind the counter.

“Maybe I do.” I thought.

Another new thing for my new day.

When I was invited behind the counter,

I went as I was told.

It is something I always did

when I was seven years old.

The shelves back there were dirty with

sticky, dusty globs of cat hair.

And still,

I just stayed still.

I did what I was told.

There were so many splinters on the shelves back there.

If you grab on to them,

they will stick in you.

But I was quiet,

and I stood still.

I did what I was told,

like I always did when I was seven years old.