THE HARDWARE STORE

         By Phillip J. Festa
                (worked at Emery Hardware in the 1950s)

When I was young, eighteen I would say
I worked in a hardware store for minimum pay
A small town-type with creaky wooden floor
One time so common but rarely found anymore
A trifle position to some it might be
But it mattered not in the least to me
For working at that hardware store
Was the sort of job never to bore
Certainly there were some lesser chores
Such as stocking shelves or cleaning windows and doors
Winter was an onerous foe
Walks would ice over or become knee deep in snow
So out into that white mass I would go
Rock salt, an ice ax and shovel in tow
Other chores were more enthusiastically done
Which I fondly recall were somewhat more fun
Like taking the truck on a delivery run
On a crisp autumn day out in the sun
On returning if the hour was slightly past four
I would take the longest route back to the store
Timing it so that I would arrive
Back at the store just before five
Oh the character that establishment had
By comparison today’s versions leave me quite sad.