Wednesday, April 11, 2012


Hayward Pharmacy

A turkey hangs akimbo in the front door
wings and legs awry on small
brass pivots, bright red snood gone gray

from fright the last customer perhaps
a pious Pilgrim with a sharpened ax

ducking in for some last minute shopping,
paper plates, night light, milk and four
small cans of Del Monte gravy, maybe
a pack of Parliaments for Miles Standish,

aspirin for the long grim winter

The dead stacked, biding
their time, waiting for the ground
to thaw, for the Hayward Pharmacy to once again
open it’s doors,
clear the cobwebs

from the old Wedgewood mortar and pestle,
blow the dust off moldering rows of

single roll Bounty
Diamond Strike Anywhere
matches shoe string licorice Clorox
in small pint jugs lined theme books in assorted

Colors all of it marked way, way up
phantom apothecary catering to
Translucent restless souls afflicted with
Full Moon Fever or a touch of catarrh,

Midnight remedies at the
corner of Fourth and Knowles.

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