Driving with the Dead: Poems

Jones and Thomason, General Merchandise

29 Jones and Thomason, General Merchandise After they tore down my great-uncle’s store, the footprint of the foundation seemed so small, the house smaller, his orchard, a scrap. The store and grounds once seemed a universe, a cool cave of memories, red asbestos shingles, acres of tin roof, wide covered porch that held dozens of loafers on a rainy day, Saturday morning gleaners of news and nonsense. Midwinter, they guarded the giant stove that swallowed mounds of bituminous binned out back, summer home of copperheads, red wasps, and giant spiders. A barber chair gathered dust by the drink cooler, Nehis and Royal Crowns shoulder-deep in frigid water, chest lid revealed jewel bright bottle caps. A candy case filled with Baby Ruths, Snickers, Mars bars, loose candies to fill “penny pokes,” our parting treat. Near Christmas, bushel boxes held creme drops, hard ribbons, orange slices sugared and tart, pink and yellow bon bons for scooping into stockings, always bon bons for me, creme drops for my brother. To one side, barrels of nails for horseshoes, houses, and barn building, fence staples, shingles, feed, seed, and in spring, baby chicks, a yellow confusion of whirs and peeps, 30 a show in the spotlight of the heat lamp. Broad stairs to a mezzanine of dry goods, fabric on bright bolts, spooled thread, rick rack, pins, and zippers. Overalls, boots, hats, even once, a pair of black patent Mary Janes—magically my size—the Easter Daddy lay in the hospital. Around and back down, a cold case of oleo and bartered butter, brown eggs and yards of bologna to be thick-sliced, carried home or heaped into hearty sandwiches, round cheeses, and slab bacon. Out back, the gray shingled house that held dozens of mechanical toys, some ancient, all working, that needed to be touched, wound, and used in this house of no children. A cool orchard with a white bridge for foot dangling, toe swishing, popsicle reverie, safe from all but errant bees seeking hives that hummed a fierce serenade. Jones & Thomason General Merchandise, Pine Grove, Tennessee, 1958. Wilbur Thomason reading gas pumps. ...