In the Basement of the Goodwill Store, imitation by Nicholas Ingalls

On a long asphalt road, spanning the town,

Sits a plain building drawing attention
From no one. The identifying blue
Bubble letters sit iconic above
The automatic doors, the most advanced
piece of technology in the entire
building. Inside, rows of cheap candy line
the checkout stands, tempting little children
to devise plans to con their parents into
buying them a treat, a sugary piece
of chocolate, caramel, or coconut.
Some give in, some scold for wanting something
So bad for them. Each response followed by
The corresponding whines or yelps of joy,
Sounds of sweet victory, or an utter
defeat. Further into the store aisles
Of old clothing, Halloween, costumes, and
More. All things my mom would tell me are crap.
But one man’s trash truly is another
Man’s treasure. A store that practically
Advertises the saying as their own
Logo. Used furniture, musty dressers,
Tables, cabinets, and unusual chairs.
Dull linoleum tiles cover the
Floor, making me want a shower, my skin
Crawls with unseen germs that my mind perceives.
I see a group of people I know, why
Are they here, for the same as I am,
A last minute school project, pulling
together random pieces of bright trash
To make glittering treasure from nothing.

In the Basement of the Goodwill Store

By Ted Kooser

In musty light, in the thin brown air

of damp carpet, doll heads and rust,
beneath long rows of sharp footfalls
like nails in a lid, an old man stands
trying on glasses, lifting each pair
from the box like a glittering fish
and holding it up to the light
of a dirty bulb. Near him, a heap
of enameled pans as white as skulls
looms in the catacomb shadows,
and old toilets with dry red throats
cough up bouquets of curtain rods.
you’ve seen him somewhere before.
He’s wearing the green leisure suit
you threw out with the garbage,
and the Christmas tie you hated,
and the ventilated wingtip shoes
you found in your father’s closet
and wore as a joke. And the glasses
which finally fit him, through which
he looks to see you looking back—
two mirrors which flash and glance—
are those through which one day
you too will look down over the years,
when you have grown old and thin
and no longer particular,
and the things you once thought
you were rid of forever
have taken you back in their arms.