The Mart (5/25/05)

Plywood windows, hard to see through
Glass shattered by an angry rock
Perhaps annoyed by the quality of news in the rack
Maybe upset by the low-life wine stock

An American foreign person runs the mart
He sits outside mostly, smoking cigarettes
Magically appears at the register as cash approaches
Makes change, asks how are you sir.

Along the back wall, cold cases of soda and beer
Individual bottles arranged to slide forward as the first is removed
So that there will never be a lack of thirst quenchery
For the sweaty clientele.

Most everything in the mart is American-made
Unusual in a land where Chinese product reigns supreme.
Most everyone who frequents the mart is American-made;
Class distinctions disappear in search of candy bars and magazines.

The mart reminds us to buy our lottery tickets, dream what if,
What if I won twelve million dollars, cash value seven point five million.
I’d buy the mart, paint it green, plant ivy in its aisles,
Sell hammocks and hamster food and hope for better days.

Copyright 2005 E. Bond Francisco