The Last K-Mart

Poetry 
The cashier stands under a burned out lane light

Would you like to donate to the March of Dimes? 
She asks the customer with
Swisher Sweet stuck in the band 
of a crumpled fedora
A ripped trench coat
and holey shoes 

Six people laugh and joke 
In a language unknown to me

A man pays with a crisp new fifty

A child asks for a kite

Glassy-eyed husbands follow their wives 
Down the crumbling aisles

There is no line on lane 6
Published