Elegy For a Sandwich Shop

Broken bottles glitter on the swollen concrete before the door. His smiling face in fractals of the glass window. His counter, sun-wrecked and water stained hold his familiar hands. The floor is caked in ochre footsteps of those who came out of the rain before me. Vaulted ceilings of ashen metal blow artificial air upon my midsummer neck The gray veins of each aisle beckon me home Smells of fresh baked bread permeate the thick, wet air and come to rest, steadfast, in my nose Mohammed’s communal voice starts to sing and static begins to crackle The store itself drenched in scents of brief understanding