The Shop

The shop at the corner of my childhood has stopped selling Danish pastry and coco macrons milk and cheese. The room is bare The cheese cutter is no longer there And the old-fashioned weight Doesn’t pling. There is no butter And no one asks why? The bell that rang when opening The shop's door Doesn’t ring anymore The shop is overtaken by time. Perhaps someone will buy the shop Make a wine bar Making us into middle-class alcoholics I have sudden hunger for Danish pastry.