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I am 73 sitting
On a metal suitcase
Witnessing a frightening
Sociopathic ritual as a woman’s
Voice smooths the jagged estrogen
From the air in a song of shopping
As the participants weave in
And out of rows of dresses
Trying on one arm victims
Taken from the rack in
Combat as voracious
As any in the Iliad
Moving slowly in
A cool and icy
Deliberate
Manner
Of a
Crusader
On a holy mission
Shopping at Macy’s,
Among them is the woman
I drove here hours ago when
I was innocent of the scary ritual
I am watching from safe in the
Luggage department close
Enough to the escalator
To flee should my raw
Nerves shatter at
Yet another out
Fit ripped off
The rack
Held up
Like a
Sacrifice
Then tossed
Back or dragged
Off to I know not what
Hideous secret ceremony
In a place they call
Fittings where I
See dresses
Go in but
Few
Come out,
A shopping-block.
Clearly-a-liaison
Clearly-a-liaison
But with what?