MALL WALKERS
They walk the mall
on legs as spindly
as late autumn branches,
arms swinging like broken gates,
some with strides as timid
as grazing deer; others walk
with the aggression of rutting bulls,
arthritic knees and strained backs
be damned.
Theirs is an unstoppable armada
of grandparents and retirees,
the gaze fixed and determined
as worker ants, oblivious to Sears,
Macy’s, Hickory Farms.
They are not there to shop,
but to outpace senility, to distance
themselves from debilitation.
To hell with elevators and escalators,
for just around the corner, past
the Yankee Candle shop, lies
the parking lot, where the aroma of
freshly baked Cinnabon muffins
follows them to their cars as they
rush to stay one step ahead
of a senior moment.
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