-The lost peace of living without paranoia-

“Gardners Neck Variety” turned “Leo’s Variety”,

Turned “Swansea Mart” has changed hands again.

“Joan's Li'l Country Store” it says in rented backlit signage.
Nobody bothers with declarations of “Under New Management”.

The new signs are enough to keep the neighborhood informed.

Milk at the “Stop & Shop” a quarter mile down 103

Was 60 cents cheaper than at the failed "Swansea Mart"––

Bread, more than that. Eggs, too.
Same is probably true at "Joan's".
Nonetheless, I’ll look into “Joan’s Li'l Country Store”––
More of an informational investigation than anything else,
A quick look-see without prolonged eye contact should do.

I'm going in.

Damn it! I know her. Shit!

(Truth is I don’t actually know her, but)  I've seen her
Putzing around her front yard snipping flowers at their stems,
Plucking weeds and bagging the dog's earlier business.

Whenever I drive by I sound the horn with a short “beep”,

Waving to extend the greeting and she waves back.
How neighborly.
How charmingly suburban.

Shit! Damn it!

The heavy glass door
Closes slowly behind me with a shock-absorber's hiss,
Like the Pope's hermetically sealed see-through lid
Before the first viewing, and Joan, about 45 and heavy-set
Recognizes me and greets me with
A nicely-tuned: “Well, hello there”! –– Shit!

Damn it! Now I’ve got to buy something and not just
A pack of designer chewing gum.
(which is probably 12 bucks at "Joan's Li'l Country Store")

I’m going through a rapid-fire short list of items in my head while
Joan stands behind the counter at the register, waiting there
To cash me out and bag the items she knows I need
In order to enjoy a more convenient experience in life.  

It’s not important that I confess here the useless jar of Jelly,
Can of Tuna, and Tube of Paste purchased, but

This is my new reality, my little piece of Hell on the road.

On the road northward from the southend of Gardners Neck Road,
(Further southward, and you're over-the-roof deep into Narragansett Bay)
And there's no access to Route 103 without passing the agonizing pleas of:
"Play Lotta Bucks HERE!" and "Free Coffee All Day!" signs
Which Joan tapes to the door in bold red marker, scribbled in her own hand
In order to entice the trapped motoring population to stop and enter.
I'm about to call for a taxi, ducking down from the backseat as Joan's passes.

Damn it! Shit! I’m unfortunately possessed by a new madness,

Tormented by the newest bane of my existence, the Black Hole designated
By the "Swansea Geophysical Society" as: “Joan's Li'l Country Store”. SHIT!
DAMN IT!