The desk

I was squatting down
by a desk in the antique shop.
It was old of course
and also worn and ugly.
I opened a drawer,
all wooden, with a lock
and metal handle
and there came to me that smell,
oh, that smell
of a creaking kitchen floor,
of grandma with flowery apron,
afternoon coffee with biscuits,
bellowing cows, dung and hay,
of tractor oil and a cobbled farmyard
with a large linden tree,
of grandpa with collarless shirt
and boots filled with straw...
- Can I help you? Or are you just browsing?
said the salesman suddenly from behind.
I rose, I was dizzy.
- No thank you. I’m done.
But if I could come here sometimes
just to feel the scent, I would be much obliged!