Reflections

A simple story of saucepans in memory of Bryan, and the kind of customer service that evades many of us today.

The stainless steel, so crafted, catches the light,
As raindrops dazzled by a ray of sun
That streams through kitchen window, angled now,
At ten o’clock, as Eastern sun is rising.

Bought seven years ago from pleasant man
Who walked, inconspicuous, down the wooden stairs,
No pushy sell, no salesman’s grin – no words –
But innate smile to reciprocate my own.

I’m left to browse among gadgets galore,
And from a shelf, stocked well with pots and pans,
I catch my own reflection – mirrored surface;
I choose the set that graces still my hob.

My face contorts around the sleek contours;
My lips stretch out to form a comic grin;
My eyes, like frogs, reflect back from the steel;
My face swells up – a moon on steroids.

He notes my dally by this pristine ware.
‘Buy them; they’ll last for life,’ he says, politely.
‘They’re beautiful but costly, don’t you think?’
‘You’ll never need another set of pans.’

His quiet reassurance seals the deal,
And here they are today as good as new.
They still reflect, as brightly now as then,
His faith in them that they would last for life.