Shopping Poem by William L Roberts

Aimless as windblown paper
Chanced against the parking lot's chainlink fence,
She idles down the aisles in the Wal-Mart,
And pauses a time amid the cosmetics.
Has what was written in her faded
Or was it ever even published?
Sure now she's weathered clean
Vacant of both narrative and meaning.

She's not so old as the seniors, out for a lark,
Nor so young as the stressed-out mothers
With their screaming spawn.
She was once a child too, in her mother's cart,
And they'll be her in turn,
Though it strains each mother's heart.

Not for her, the rush of purpose that is shopping,
She's the ebb of the American Dream,
Drained of all hope and planning.
In the stores of old there'd be a clerk
To show her mascara and lipstick,
To guide her gently, to get her back on track,
Does she feel the loss of help and concern?
Is she perhaps longing for some human contact?
I hope she doesn't notice me
As I watch her like a hawk,
I'm sure she's shoplifting
And sure I'll see her caught.