hear the crumpling rumbles, crown-starved lives, stumbling
through the hours, feigning breath for the stale air of hurry.
shops awhirl with tight shouldered pilgrims alert only to winking lights
and brandied windows that steal the real for the on sale deal, steals
for grubby graspers groping for this, grasping for that
filling carts with heartless bobbles of packaged numb –
soul, unknown to its owners, crouches still, hungry, waiting, gasping
thirsty for seasonal wading pool, the drink of tourists
blind to pilgrim feast just beyond the price tag contemplations of beggars.
empty promises, shiny and hollow, lure lusty eyes and hearts behooven
to unkempt desires of lesser men.
how insidious, how stealthy, this swollen debt of mall-booty
accumulating in attics, under porches, staircases, and blankets –
garage sale in the making.
still behind such trackless wastes, just out of sight
behind the aisle, under racks of unpeopled scarves, jackets and panty-hose
lies the tiny, the insignificant, the sacred.
something without price-tag
without store hours
within reach, just beyond greedy fingers –
the perfect – he