Take a trip to any mall, watch how people behave in waiting lines and watch a movie or buy booze on Christmas day and our real gods are revealed quickly. I repost a poem I wrote at this time last year that crystallizes some of my thoughts.

Rob's Lit-Bits

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…

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