Hey, Walt
I, too, hear America singing,
As my flip-flops
Cruise the Wal-Mart aisles.
A fast-approaching wind
Drives me in to shop.
I smell the heat-rush
Of the hotdog vendor--
Clothing, mustard and relish.
Carts flash.
Soda crackles.
Purses snap.
Nothing's lost on me.
Copyright © Orma Sullivan | Year Posted 2007
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