There exists an abandoned storefront
on a small-town outskirt roadside
near an empty, defunct restaurant,
gone now, once chain space occupied.
On a small-town outskirt roadside
where the valley rolls fog down the hills,
gone now, once chain space occupied,
the Alco store wouldn’t pay the bills.
Where the valley rolls fog down the hills
(and the anhydrous breeze of a leak)
the Alco store wouldn’t pay the bills
they couldn’t close the doors midweek.
and the anhydrous breeze of a leak
seeped through the vents as a taunt
they couldn’t close the doors midweek
now there exists an abandoned storefront.
L.M. Cole was once an assistant supervisor and donation center lead for a blood bank. She has also been a trainer in almost every other company she’s worked for, which is both fulfilling and disheartening. She has poems published in Roi Faineant, Unfortunately Lit, Morning Fruit Magazine and forthcoming in Olney, Moss Puppy, Gastropoda and others. She can be found on Twitter: @_scoops__