Ours

There are vintage looking posters in the windows 

And they’re probably not old 

But I’d almost believe you 

If you said they were. 

They’re next to organic candles 

From the raspberry farm down the road. 

Each window gets a wreath 

Hanging covering 

Almost the whole window, 

Lights and red berries and wet snow 

Covering it. 

And there’s tall grass planted in the pots out front 

It looks somehow alive 

Defying winter. 

The store hours are printed on one side of the glass door 

And scrap paper is taped to the other side

With a sharpied note

And I already know it says something

About the shortened hours due to Christmas tree light malfunction

Something like that.

It’s our general store,

With the gas pump out front

Ice cream stains on creaking floorboards,

It’s ours.