The corner store across the street
Was known for all its cuts of meat
But also it sold milk and bread
And other things you’d need instead.

On Friday mornings folks would flock
To sit on chairs among the stock
To hear the music on guitar
Of Uncle Junior (TV star).

The owner’s lived at my address
For more than forty years, I’d guess.
As neighbors we would nod and chat
Of Yankee games and this and that.

Today, in shock, while walking by,
An empty storefront met my eye.
I’d heard the rent went through the roof
And there before me was the proof.

Though times must change, it makes me sad
When touchstones that we’ve always had
Just disappear and are no more;
Farewell, my friendly corner store!