I walked around the thrift
store like it was a
museum. Looking at the details
of yesterday one footstool
at a time. I passed
the posters of World War
II era, the ones in
which Uncle Sam points at
me. The leisure suits as
brown as new spring dirt.
I found albums that
completed someone’s Saturday night;
flipped through Al Hirt,
Peter, Paul and Mary, James
Taylor, and Ray Charles. Some
albums possessed nicks that caught
my fingernail. Some records looked
as new as November mornings.
America’s soundtrack collected dust next
to discarded Life magazines.
[ This photograph is in the public domain. ]
