The Grocer
 
The cracks in this ancient linoleum
hold on to dirt and dust and the debris
my customers track in. A minimum
of two or three dustpans-full have to be
swept up each day. The high school kid I hired
does most of that, but when it's time to close
I do the last pass, even if I'm tired.
The broom’s swish-swish is calming; I suppose
the rhythm of it puts my mind at ease.
I think of that day’s customers, who bought
bananas, rye bread, milk, a can of peas,
as I sweep out the last few crumbs still caught
within these cracks. I finish, lock the door,
look forward to tomorrow’s dirty floor.
 
Jean Kreiling
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Jean Kreiling would be pleased to hear them