San Gregorio General Store

 

San Gregorio General Store

How I love the young woman 
with slender fingers who takes 
my book from the shelf—blows 
dust from the top—bends to read 
my poems apparently near-sighted 
index finger following words. 
I feel caressed.

Her black leggings are torn, 
a train-track from ankle to thigh 
that I travel with my eye. A dancer? 
Sways her hips to the bluegrass band
but—Oh!—scarlet drops fall to the page. 
A gushing—her hand to her nose. 
“Crap!” she says runs to the bar
grabs a napkin drops the book 
among beer glasses and she runs out 
to the barbwire ranch land
pressing her nostril. 

How I love the swarthy man 
in cutoff jeans wide hat
looks like an off duty cowboy
on a stool at the bar
lifts the bloody ruined book 
pinches a quarter tween thumb and finger 
looks questioningly at old George
who shrugs and accepts. 

Limping favoring one hip
takes the book to a truck tailgate open 
watched by skeptical black angus 
under soaring red-tail hawk
where the young woman is waiting
with a grin and a bottle of wine. 
Together they read. 

…..

First published in Misfit. Thank you editor Alan Catlin.

San Gregorio General Store out in the ranchlands of coastal California has a little bit of everything and a whole lot of genuine character. A bar, live music, a few groceries, lots of hats and sweatshirts and coffee mugs,  exotic soaps — oh, and books (sometimes mine). It’s a special gathering spot for us locals and also seems to draw folks from all over the Bay Area. 

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