Wal-Mart

Driving down the freeway,
Listening to sports radio.
It occurs to me –
America is
The Wal-Mart of the world.

Big boxes everywhere,
With benefits,
Computer communication coordination,
And old people
Saying “hi” and offering you a cart
At the door.

It’s all right there,
Aisles 1 – 1,000,002.
Gleaming, glittering
Inviting the purchase of 2 for 1.
Generic stores -
Generic stuff –
Generic staff –
Generic marketing -
Generic prices –
Generic people.

Wonderful, wonderful
Wal-Mart.
There atop the
Evolutionary pile of production
Of free enterprise,
At all the busiest corners
In the world.

My granddad,
He must be laughing –
‘Bout how the Piggly Wiggly supermarket
That spoiled his grocery
Got squeezed –
And his little town’s
Not even there anymore.
He would probably say “hi”
And offer them at cart
At Wal-Mart’s door.


Me
I never worked for a living.
I just peddle empty time and hot air,
And take the paper proceeds
To Wal-Mart.
Cheese balls
To give the kids --
And wicker chairs
For the patio.

Some people seem mad
Some people seem surprised.
Some people say,
“It’s the end of the world!”
I think I’m a little tired
Of all this negativity.
I’m going to “Returns,”
In front, right next to the exit.
What I got here is broke,
And I didn’t need it anyway.