The day the pharmacy closed
the lobster boats slipped
their moorings at 5 a.m.
The crews wiping sleep
from their eyes.
The mail boat left
for Isle au Haut at seven,
its whistle hooting one long and
three short fare-thee-wells
into the morning air.
Two tourists found a comfortable
table near the window
at the Harbor Cafe and marveled
at the quaint beauty of the town.
The same old foursome teed off
in their weekly duffers’ convention
at the Island Country Club.
Three teenagers sat on the granite wall
outside the town hall; another day
with nothing else to do.
I drove off-island to Blue Hill –
52 miles round trip –
and filled a prescription.
While there I spent $63 for groceries.
An elderly woman with hypertension
and heart disease discovered
she had run out of pills.
With no transportation available
she realized she’d have
to go the day without them.
She got her ride that night
in the ambulance.
Next morning she died.
The governor was quoted
in the weekly paper as saying
it’s a pity the new rules
force small pharmacies to close.
But, really, his hands were tied
by the Feds.
The day the pharmacy closed
its signpost framed
an empty epitaph.
Passersby nodded gravely
and went on with their lives.
– Julian A. Waller, M.D., Stonington