I had reason to be there,
a last-minute Christmas gift,
one store to get in and out,
then a holiday party.
Around me flowed scattered souls,
not shoppers like me, just mall
walkers still beholden to
the laws of motion, bright white
sneakers shuffling over brick,
their track suits swishing, wrists limp,
bodies bound to endless loops
past shuttered shops and naked
window displays.
An old man
sat on a bench by the coin
operated kiddie rides,
amused by the tinkling bells
and calliope, its few
colored lights blinking. No child
in sight this afternoon. Once
a group of travelers passed
as though I were little more
than a grave marker. Where they
were headed they couldn’t say,
every path anonymous
like the faceless mannequins
that stared from big glass cases.
Here it seems no one looks back.
Robert Fillman is the author of The Melting Point (Broadstone Books 2025), House Bird (Terrapin Books 2022), and the chapbook November Weather Spell (Main Street Rag 2019). His poems have appeared in such journals as Salamander, Spoon River Poetry Review, and Tar River Poetry. He is an assistant professor of English at Kutztown University.
Image: “Days Of Thunder, Colonie Center” by Daniel Nester
Pine Hills Review 