Lovely Max reminded me of being a kid when I worked in such a store for
pocket money -the pleasure say of packing loose biscuits by hand and getting
the weight right without using a weighing machine! -all pre packed today
alas
P and enjoying the odd broken biscuit!
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Max Richards
Sent: 14 September 2011 00:47
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: snap: grocer and kitchen 1950
Grocer and Kitchen 1950
There's only a list in my basket -
after school, Mother is sending me
walking four blocks from our corner
to Mr Miles the grocer.
This afternoon I'm his only customer -
his attention is all mine.
What's on the list? He doesn't ask
for it, waits intently while
one at a time I name them.
His sleeves are rolled up right and high -
his apron is narrow, tied on tight.
Sugar - in a flash he turns to its shelf,
pounces and plonks it in front of me.
Flour - the same. Tea - the same.
Mustard in its bright yellow tin - the same.
Reckitt's Blue for the wash-house, the same.
His speed is astounding. I sense his pride.
There's nothing you can reach for yourself.
Mr Miles is the man in charge. His cash register
is tall, silver, and clangs.
On your mother's account? Yes please.
He packs my basket, neat, firm, balanced.
Shows me to the door with a little bow.
I step out. It closes on me with a clang.
I can walk home slowly now, shifting
the basket from arm to arm.
I got everything, Mum, what's for dinner?
What we always have on Monday.
We mince the roast-beef leftovers,
mash the boiled potatoes, cover
the mince in the pyrex dish,
pop it into the hot oven.
Max Richards
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