“COME ON IN….” COUNTRY STORES…
The Country Store
False-fronted building of unpainted wood,
A sagging hitch rack, where the horses stood;
Within, lax loafers hugged the glowing stove,
Above whose forms dense smoke clouds interwove.
Tobacco-spotted floors met grimy walls
Half hid with shelves piled high with overalls,
Blue shirts, some overshoes, and coarse-cut plug,
Bologna, beans, and sorghum by the jug;
And where the former owners piled their feet
And speculated on crops of corn and wheat,
Stood a scarred counter, with a glass-caged cheese,
Salt pork and sauerkraut and cans of peas;
And from the cobwebbed window pane,
That knew no washing save by friendly rain,
The sunlight, streaming through a broken shade,
Lit up the cat’s slow counter-promenade.
__William P. McKenna.