Moved to Poetry by Poetry Because of Poetry

An Ode to the corner store

Oh Corner Store...how I heart thee
With your 24-hourness and chicken and jojo-scented
Oxygen singing to me like a non-drowny siren

With the promise of neon, ranch dip and
A refrigerated top row of 22 ouncers
You always have what I need
Whether it's duct tape or $1 meat

And for that, I metaphorically embrace you and
Your rowdy, fun-lovin' gangster wannabes
Hanging out by the bus stop like Tupac's Not dead.
Calling everyone a bitch.

The pasty skinny-jeaned buying Pabst (case-style)
Making small talk with other races
Trying to pretend they're not uncomfortable.

You have the specialty chips I need
To make the tuna casserole
'Cause it's comfort food night
As it is when I work late.

Though no sleep occurs
You know you're my Comfort Inn.
The sketch is my crutch

And yes, that last part was a haiku. For you, Corner Store


Bless you, google earth. And thank you as well.