The usual whoosh of gliding guards and
warning bells forgone by bodies pushing through.
The condemned one holds defiant as shards fall and
a hail of frenzy rushes through an open vessel.
Preaching sanity and tranquility,
he directs traffic of blinded shoppers
all seeming to say, throw cares away.
Tearing with aggression, exhausted by depression, poverty and 9 to 5
cut from the molds of class and commodity,
of siphoned fear and big screen TV,
a culture that lives by the sale, dies by the sale.
O’ Valley Stream, New York
drip blame from your soles.
Watch as you topple arms outstretched for help,
a man’s arms, Jdimytai Damour’s arms,
arms of my brother, Joshua, who I’ve grown with
and love, who you would have sacrificed without hesitation as well.
O’ Valley Stream,
witness blue vest press to black linoleum tiles,
pounding sneakers nail palms and feet,
flashes of fluorescents blotch into camouflage,
as body is absorbed by a giddy and churning bazaar of
spearing knees and elbows.
His airless lungs squeal,
and not you,
not Jdimytai’s friends or family or coworkers
heard him.
That morning,
before the sun blessed upon humanity a new day
old scripture became tomorrow’s headlines.
Head bowed and died,
bargain toys rang,
while people sang
songs of good cheer
Christmas is here!


Black Friday has appeared in In Tahoma’s Shadow from Exquisite Disarray Publishing.