The Antique Store

It is my day off, and I feel anxious.
Needing to do something, a neighbor
introduces me to the antique store
around the corner.

It is the first time I set foot
in the place, but I see the building
that houses it outside a window
in my apartment.
It’s one of many such stores.

The neighbor, Gabriel
is fascinated by the old;
the obscure. The proprietor
greets us with a smile, and
an attentive eye. We are
not hooligans, just bored.

The accoutrements of days
gone by clutter around us.
Breathing down our backs:
gilded mirrors, ancient bedding,
and chapeaus of all imagination.
But what it is we are looking for
lies underneath our feet.

Descending a rickety staircase,
we enter into the treasure
awaiting us. Vinyl recordings
of all shades, old newspapers,
and bric-a-brac unimaginable
are hoping to be found and loved
just one more time, one more chance
to be loved before it becomes dust.
The mold and the damp hang
in the air. Three lonely bulbs illuminate
the cold concrete beneath our feet.

Thumbing through the racks, I find Alvin
and the Chipmunks Sing the hits
of the Beatles. Sometimes treasure finds
its way into your hands before you know
what you are looking for.