The sign hanging from the shop door
read “Closed Forever.” Frequently
I’d drop in, hooked by junk out front.
I didn’t need the plates or containers
but it was a steal. Until once, a day later,
I found entirely new merchandise.
Another racket! They could take their time
to “go out of business” but not with me.
Not another dollar from my wallet.
So I felt somewhat triumphant,
until this morning, when I stood outside.
I felt something lost and didn’t know why.
#### Poet’s Notes ####
Photo of First Draft:
The store on Fulton Street in New York City: