the time Mom used to work there, and she wore a big, blue apron
with big, blue pockets—she was young
grocery store-blackened bare feet, the snack area’s giant, rotating Icee,
orange booths and fake-wood-panel tables
more art supplies, more books, more Sam’s everythings,
variety, variety packs, cases of variety packs
the kiddie pool that peeled off the wall in a hailstorm,
the one we caught and held as a shield, and ice beat our ankles
to be pushed in a cart, to ride a metal horse for a quarter,
to test the fur of Teddy Ruxpin’s mechanical mouth
this space, these chunks of wall, ribs of twisted rebar,
this empty parking lot, a crumpled receipt
