The Mall Poem by James Papastamos

I was cold and lonely…and
the mall, a mother’s womb, would
wrap its brotherly love
around my naked soul. I walked
into this religious bookstore,
shopping for a brand new soul or,
at least, some kind of owner’s manual.
But no luck!
The coffee shop – immaculate; no
loitering, please, now littered with
patrons often as bitter; and the
steam rose from its only source, as
paper cups, newly recycled, now
used without remorse,
dropped back to their respective
source; and those donuts, as
freshly baked, life preservers,
wrapping themselves around our
bloated ego.
We walked without direction,
thought without reflection,
aimless yet amiable.
Store front windows were
eyes for the blind, displaying the
contents of our naked soul; and
our feet, fast and furious, would
feel their very way to those
liquidation sales. But I...I was
cold and lonely; and this mall,
a shoppers tomb, would
strap its weight on those of us
who simply ran for late.