I should have been Cal’s or Carl’s Drugs,
whichever it was,
the neon blinkingly lit;
squeezed between Elm Bakery
and Puritan Furniture,
storefronts like rows of old faces
watching the traffic on Page Avenue;
Cal’s or Carl’s, a five-and-dime
empty boxes stacked in the front window
warped wooden floors
the aroma of peppermint mildew
dust among the untouched greeting cards
racks of fantasy paperbacks
tins of liniments above dog toys
jigsaw puzzles next to roach spray;
I should have been Cal’s or Carl’s Drugs
not what I was
not what I am and always will be
the modern, antiseptic, unwarped franchisee;
not the man at the register,
Cal or Carl, placing change
on the tender skin of an open palm.
Barry Peters lives in Durham, North Carolina. Publications include Barrow Street, Grist, Image, New Ohio Review, RHINO, and The Southern Review.