The Corner Store

Three doors down

from our three bedroom

one bath nightmare

lay a gas station

that recylced

high teenage employees

faster than the dishes were done.

Only after many hand guided trips

from our nervous wreck

of a mother

were we allowed to travel alone.

Every third Thursday

of the month,

elevated on the wings

of allowance day,

my brother and I

would run down

to that corner store

and head right

to the check out counter,

where they displayed

all of the candy

in bright lights

for impulsive children

like me. 

Reviews

[TLK]

"that recylced
high teenage employees
faster than the dishes were done."

Apart from the little typo, this is excellent. The marriage of employment practises with the mundane nature of the tasks involved makes a satisfying whole. Why recycle? They keep leaving. Why do they leave? They do dishes. And so on.