Aisle

The subtlest themes of our whispered lives

waited where pennies made paupers into princes.

It was the one door you entered

among the many on a city’s block

where price tags weren’t a form of walls

to the working man’s pocket books.

 

Aisles bordered in shelves

possessing the landscape of mental ornaments,

exuding that lure for tinsel’s tease,

affordable fancies and a child’s cherished curios,

divided into small realms of pleasures.

 

Little bins of plastic toy cornucopias

set where small fingers could dig and explore

for their favorite trinket and play time treasure.

 

While feeling that euphoria

over the multitude of options

you could stop for lunch at the counter

still in view of those little gems

marked down to a make them a realistic prize.

 

Unlike the mighty malls that spread like mountains

whose interiors are spacious and so bountiful

without the same personality

or sense  of being more like your neighbor,

Woolworths was that haven from poverty’s pavement,

entering displaced its harshness

leaving with a small bag,

didn’t matter the contents,

because for that moment

you felt the power of purchase

that eluded behind those sheets of glass

offering diamonds you could never afford.