(dedicated to the memory of Norman and Janice True - grandparents)

With her garrulous nature
And his taciturn style,
She would sit and talk for hours,
He would listen all the while.

And so the two related,
Maintaining their communicative tie.
It was the very essence of their marriage,
Until the day he died.

Oh, how she would gossip ‘bout the neighbors.
She knew them all by name.
For this was fodder for their grist,
As it was their commerce to sustain.

The two being local merchants
In a tiny rural town
And the state of their investment
Brought the folks from miles around.

Oh, how she crowed about their status,
Bringing goods from near and far:
Cloth for dresses, denim jeans, and sundries,
Fresh eggs, meat, milk, bread, and so much more.

There was a section just for hardware,
Batteries, screws, nails, paint, and locks for doors.
There was even a laundry mat out back;
Theirs was the epitome of a "modern" general store.

And in their toughest money times,
Their patrons found true Christian relief,
A 3x5 card made out for credit
For wanting households with honest needs.

But she could rail against the sinners,
The drunkards and the thieves.
And those rascals knew to stay clear of her store
Lest she would share their dastardly deeds.

And on the front porch of an evening
She would keep him up to date,
Rocking and reading the paper
Or sharing any new news she’d heard that day.

And he was much the stoic partner,
Smoking his pipe, a comment or two slipping out.
But everyone knew, for certain,
That he was the master of that big ol’ house.

And that would be the bond they cherished
Until the day he died,
When all the many things he did
Echoed there in that long silence.

And though she spoke to a few others
Over the course of her last year,
She did pine away the days,
The weeks, the months,
Without his bended ear.


Michael S. True
7/28/14