We eat the drugs and rub the glitter on our faces and go to the mall. The drugs don't kick in. We figured this might happen. We don't deserve the visions. It is almost closing time. We remember when the mall would be open all night, but that is no longer the way. All the stores are a little more closed than they used to be. Some never roll their gates up all the way, so we have to duck our heads to enter Forever 21. A few of us have things to return for store credit. We brought the things along, because if the drugs never kick in, it's good to have some sort of purpose. Back-up plans become plans, forever and ever amen. Purpose is good. We have it. We have our store credit and walk into the main hall. Every night, the mall manager reads his poetry over the mall PA system. We are the deck / of a great ship / balsa wood planks / fit together / against the sea air. We all know the poem. Every night, he reads it over the last hour the mall is open. The drugs aren't kicking in. We are getting discouraged. We all share a hot dog, but we can't agree on condiments, so it's bites of meat and bread that no one enjoys. Some of us take larger bites, as if that is the key. Our faces wrinkle. The horizon looms / as near as away / lines of color / spread against the other / pressed bodies of lovers. The mall employees tune out the poem. They are in the zone of work. This is not the poetry hour, just another hour of tags and bags and touching of dirty paper. Move please, the man says. I have but one more errand and you are all in my way. We step aside. We like our interaction with the man. He gave us clear instruction and we followed the instruction. Yankee Candle attaches fire to wicks. The mall lights dim and the candles summon us even though we are a whole 50 feet away. The walk is hard but we get to the candles. Amazing. All the overlapping smells are beautiful. The loneliness / of the lone / soldier of fortune / standing at / forever attention. We knew the drugs wouldn't kick in and they don't. Why did we come here? Not much else is open at this time. All the parks are ruined, fields of mud. Even here, most of the stores are half closed but the gateway, the entryway, the passage, the door to the closed-ish things is open as hell. The lights are dim now and we look at the candles and they reflect off our face glitter. Without the glitter we are ugly as hell, and boring. Why do we keep doing this, we say. Our mother used to tell us if we went to the mall alone we'd be kidnapped. And a kidnapper will never raise you as right as I will. Forget about snacks and dessert. Desert winds / flow with pure / graceful dips / cool dives / into the valley. A father is holding his daughter's hand and the daughter's a son's and the son's another son's. The rope of them moves past us and we think about grabbing on or forming our own but we don't. The rope moves all the way through us, disappearing into a Foot Locker. We have store credit that we're saving. The mall manager hopes that someone will read his poem at their funeral. To him, that is the highest honor to achieve, to be the words that accompany a body into the ground. How do we know this? Because the mall manager says it at the end of his poem, before all the gates roll down and the lights dim all the way, before the store employees are locked inside their stores to sleep until morning, he says, The highest honor a poem can receive is to be read at a funeral, as the body is being lowered into the ground. I hope to achieve that honor. Email me at mallpoetman@earthlink.com for inquiries. He says it in that sad voice so we know he is serious. We might not hear him say it tonight. We might leave. But the drugs still haven't kicked in and we aren't kicked out yet. This is a place to stand so we stand. An opera singer / at the highest / pitch of her / note held /held longer still. The place that sells french fries is out of business. We think about buying a shirt. We want our visions. The spread of glitter on our faces shines in the light.


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Steven Grassel is from Pittsburgh. He's had stories in SmokeLong, Jellyfish Review and others.

Read more of his work in the archive.

Detail of art on main page courtesy of Godino.





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