I like the man-smell of a hardware store:
odors of old leather,
fresh cut lumber, oiled machines,
limey smell of plaster and new paint.
I like the men who come to hardware stores,
men with calloused hands
in dirty jeans and sweaty shirts,
men who work.
I remember times we came together
for shingles and to re-roof the shed,
cement for the outdoor barbecue,
bricks for the patio.
Now I come alone and pause a moment
just inside the door.
Almost I see you there
beyond the ray of dust motes in the aisle.
So strong the sense of deja vu
I have to catch my breath
As if these old familiar smells
could bring you back from death.
An untitled, unattributed poem hanging in the back of Moody’s Hardware Store in Montgomery, Alabama. The poem and story of Moody’s was really a gem to stumble upon, because Boston Hardware in Uncasville, Connecticut was our family’s pride for more than 40 years.
It’s amazing what gifts small-scale blogs by everyday folks like us can bring in unexpected ways.