I’d like to start
By saying that I have had
So many great memories
(Mornings of Phish shows,
before skiing, going to college,
high school lunch with friends)
Standing in front of your counter
As I eagerly watch you
Flip my sizzling eggs,
My succulent bacon.
Is there any spirit, Jim,
More jolly than yours?
Any soul more deeply content
To engage in pleasant small talk
With the local old ladies,
To put stickers
On their macaroni salad containers
And smile,
To tell them, “Thanks for shopping here,”
As you wipe your hands
Off on your white apron,
Tied off just beneath your proud belly,
And really mean
Every word?
Jim, you have touched the food
Of many, the lives
Of many.
Your store has survived
Well into the age of the supermart
And still the people come back.
They come back for
Your fresh eggs,
For your incredible meats,
Your perfectly baked goods.
But Jim,
Sometimes,
They come back
For you.