The shrieks of
the tortured crowds
(herded as cattle that
feeds on fifty percent
OFF clearance signs)
are heard through the
stucco archways of
the outdoor plaza
at the shopping mall.
Tommy Bahama bellies
jiggle over dirty sandals
sweaty foreheads drip
on the steaming summer
asphalt.
There is nothing in
their eyes
the depths of
their intellect
is filled with a
dollar sign
They drowned in
their own
consumption—
Their minds are
no longer
minds.