Over at Wheeler’s Store

We ate thick boloney on white bread.
There was no place for hand washing
and what farmer cared anyhow?
Tobacco gum had to be scrubbed, hard.

She’d ask whose boy that was walking by
or had we heard about the Wheeler girl.
My legs never reached the floor.
That wood stool was too tall. I swung them,

tapping the support rods;
suppose I kept time to conversations
while the coca-cola clock clicked seconds
until the years stopped it hands.

Author: Darlene Franklin-Campbell

I am a poet, novelist and artist living in the Appalachian Foothills. I believe we are great spiritual beings on a journey through this physical realm. We are timeless entities stepped into time.

3 thoughts on “Over at Wheeler’s Store”

  1. Purple,

    Thank you SO much.


    It is good to hear from another resident of “tobacco country”. My front yard and my back yard both face a tobacco patch…and a cow lot but that’s a poem for another day:)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s