Things I Need from Wal-Mart

by Jessica M. Lockhart

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

JESSICA M. LOCKHART is from Selma, Alabama, and she teaches composition at Mississippi State University. Her poems have appeared in Storm Cellar Quarterly, Sixfold, and Verse-Virtual. She serves as Poetry Editor at Blinders Journal.