poem of the day Novemeber 19 

While sitting on the steps of an old tired store

on a big slab of Charlemont schist that came

from somewhere near Bambi's place 

I started musing 

about  a changing 

Avery's store that

is no longer owned

by generations passed

I have a postcard from 1906

of horse teams pulled up

to hitching posts

in front of the general store

where you could get anything

from good steaks

to good nails

and everything in between

You could even go in

and ask if they had a

what-do-you-call-it

for a-who's-a-ma-gig

And they would have it

Now you still can get groceries

a real good sandwich

with all the fixings

But you can no longer get

a-what-do-you-call-it

for a-who's-a-ma-jig