Shore Counter

　　by Aaron Fogel

　　 Friendless， with an intimation of islands，

　　 The merchant set up shop on shore.

　　 He had no jovial manner and made no eye

　　 Contact with customers but gazed--

　　 They might be birds or nations--at white

　　 Forms out there in the offing. People preferred

　　 Buying from him to pretending to be hearty

　　 And earthy--what you have to do with some shopkeepers.

　　 He was the lower-middle class transfinite--

　　 Handing you something to eat and taking the cash

　　 With indifference like the unpainted eyes

　　 Of the oldest classical sculptures of their own erosion，

　　 The self （imagine this） no longer tainted，

　　 The blue long gone because of weather.

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