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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A Horn and Hardart Story By Sy Roth It begins with buttons, ivory buttons, Pearlized pieces-- Not the plastic crap, Over-industrialized flotsam that adorns clothing these days— Eager hands fluttering like twin doves in flight, Delivered buttons. His effort earned him a nickel. His hunger traded for the warmth and noise of the Horn and Hardart he passed daily-- This road did not diverge It led him to the Horn and Hardart With all the other lemmings and their jangling, coin-filled pockets. Their hunger needed to be assuaged. His button booty could buy him a cup of steaming, baked beans. The Indian-head nickel lay in his palm reminder of this reward. Each week a cup of baked beans to sate a hungry soul, A victory in the face of hard streets A rout of the spirit. He searched the boxes to find the niche of beans And rolled the nickel into the slot. Surrounded by other vacant faces and their selections. Plinking coins marked the choices An assonance made rhythmic by the needs of the hungry. They plunked in their coins in the Horn and Hardart’s slots Producing a symphony of those choices. He cupped his cup of baked beans in his small hands. Time passed and the lure of the nickel treat drew him back. Horn and Hardart, Celebratory return to the chapel of his past dreams. He dragged his young son there after purchasing the boat of his son’s dreams. He gave him coins, His keys to the kingdom of slaked thirst And told him to buy what he pleased. The boy selected macaroni and cheese. He kept one coin back to buy his past, A glass-caged tidbit of yore. He cradled his cup of beans in his hands as he returned to his table. As he watched his son eat, Reveled in the pleasure of that moment Dreaming of sails and soft ocean breezes to take him to ports, Dreams that amused the corners of his imagination. His son could hear the spoon scraping the cup free of its baked beans And he listened in paradisiacal wonderment to his future.
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