XII
The old dusty shelves
Our old dusty selves
Just names next to numbers
Of worth
Hope it sells
No one goes out
When no one comes in
She says this is how
This store’s always been
So months, maybe years
Flash by, disappear
Just keep the store tidy
For shadows are near
And who else can judge
A decrepit old store
In a forgotten corner
Of a city with more
A Life in Poems 