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Roger Turner - Poet
Poems
May 2012
The Jeweller
"Old Man Rubenstein",
that's the name they knew him by
He'd worked the shop for fifty years
His friends just called him Cy
Each day he'd enter from the back
For at the front door slept
Someone trying to survive the cold
Inside the store Cy swept
The store had been a fixture
On the street for ninety years
Five Generations of Rubensteins
Had seen the smiles and tears
Of young men getting married
Picking rings out for their brides
And in many cases watching them
As they tried them on inside
The street had changed in fifty years
In ninety, even more
But one thing about Rubensteins
Was their famous tiled floor
In the foyer, just inside the door
There were tiles black and white
They were laid out like a flower
It was really quite a sight
When his Great Great Grandpa
Laid the tiles, it was done by J.C Hardin
To signify each customer
Was welcome "in his garden"
Times had changed since Cy came in
The street was not the same
A lot of stores had moved or closed
The malls all held the blame
With suburbs came progression
And with progression came bad news
Most small stores lost their customers
To chains with modern views
But Rubensteins stayed on the street
Never changing one small bit
They had been right here for ninety years
And this is where they'd sit
The front, I mentioned earlier
Each night became a bed
For someone living on the streets
A place to lay their head
Cy would leave a pillow
And a blanket by the door
It was always there next morning
Nicely folded like before
Other storefronts opened up
At nine...right sharp each day
But, Cy would leave the door shut
Letting his sleeping beauty lay
There wasn't lots of people
Who would shop in Cy's old store
With the way the neighborhood had died
No one came round here no more
With pawn shops open down the road
And two just up the block
The fact that people went to them
To Cy, was not a shock
He really ran the business
To keep himself alive
For he knew that if he closed it
He was sure he'd not survive
His life was wrapped up in the store
Each decade on a shelf
He was quite the story teller
And of stories...he'd a wealth
He sold a ring once to the Mayor
For his engagement years ago
They were still together nowadays
That was forty years or so
Harry Cooper bought his wifes rings
And his son had done as well
He'd bought a special pendant
When he lost his son in Hell
He'd go down to Giannis
And buy his lunch most days
He was never in a hurry
And most times he'd stay and gaze
He'd stare out the front windows
To a time so long before
Then he'd head back to the jewellers
And he'd still use the back door
He thought of times way in the past
When Christmas windows glowed
With displays of rings and Christmas lights
Lit up the whole **** road
But now, the storefront windows
Were protected by strong bars
There were hardly any customers
And even fewer cars
He remembered when a shopping trip
Meant dressing up to shop
But nowadays, a pair of jeans
And a t-shirt as a top
He'd sit inside the storefront
Until about six everyday
Then he'd put out a clean bedroll
And he'd quietly slip away
He'd show up every morning
Through the back door every time
He'd check on his front doorway
And he'd hum a little rhyme
"If friendship is a flower
'And a garden grows in time
I'm glad I have a garden
And you've spent some time in mine"
He'd make sure when he opened
That he'd turn on every light
Then he'd go out side the front door
And sweep away the night..
Written by
Roger Turner - Poet
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