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Black FridayBlack Friday


It was a stampede.
Cattle.  Pamplona.
A restless herd
sensing predators.

Some standing
For hours in the rain,
Backs to the northern winds
Sneakers soaked and stinking.

Others camping
On walkways, in gutters,
Under tattered canvas
Won from battles past.

Edgy workers
Watching watchers
Safe behind
The tempered glass. 

Knowing when to
Release the rodeo gate.
And let the testosterone tide
Surge past.

Black Friday merch
In shrouds
Along the aisles
Like doing lines of cocaine

Scratching, clawing, grabbing
At the scant supply of stuff.
Orgasmic shoppers
Fondling their credit cards.

A precious day wasted.
No refunds allowed.
They didn’t enter Target
They were the target.