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The Village Druggist
by Marcel A. Duclos
Old men–
tired bones and work-life in the past–
sit on park benches
rock in front of country stores
occasionally venture to the inlet and
laugh at the signs warning against feeding
alligators not in captivity
How safe he felt in the New Hampshire Drug Store
First as a soda jerk–easier than a 72-hour week
schlepping in a warehouse during the Great Depression
Then three years of day and night study for the Board exam
Math and chemistry nearly sank this father of two under two
His 25th wedding anniversary photo hints an impish kind fellow
the one children warmed up to
the one adolescents could confide in
the one who favored widows and orphans
thanking them for their grace
He chuckled with his undertaker friend
how he would forego pants shoes and stockings
in his prepaid Carolina Pecan Casket
Were you to gaze upon this photo
you might glimpse the sadness behind those eyes–
a son living with seizures after meningitis
I miss my father
This morning by the inlet a plein air painting
Glass shards silver and sliver the sun-lit surface–
bait fish for the circling Red-Shouldered Hawk
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