The New Bank on the Corner

The floorboards groaned under Papa’s shuffle in the end. In the years before the slippers, the sharp clack of his heels called for attention, The floors quick and poised, creaking like they should. Nannie never liked to tell the story of the time, When two boys who thought they didn’t have to pay, Backed down the porch steps under the point of his barrel. Later, the store sat on the corner where the road opened up, Papa’s pumps moved back to make room for their sign. Only once I thought of the floors beneath the tellers’ feet, Groaning away without the sharp clack of Papa’s heels.