Monday, January 23, 2006


The humming and drumming
A crowd of voices
Abuzz with gossip and ordinary

A cultural melting pot on display
Delighting every voyeuristic bone in my body

Teenaged girls huddle, preening in hushed whispers
Males too young to be men and too old to be boys
Strutting uncomfortably
Unable to find a rhythm or pace that suited them

Mothers and daughters gazing in windows
Young lovers stroll by as if on a cloud
A weary toddler on the verge of a tantrum
And the father whose hand he is
Refusing to hold

Bare midriffs and miniskirts
Walk alongside grandmotherly attire
Little old ladies with freshly styled permanents
And purses clutched tightly

The aroma in the air is exotic
Not the perfumed oils of the Orient
But fresh buttered popcorn
And hot-from-the-oven cinnamon buns

This place is a true slice of life
And, from the safety of my perch,
I feel removed from it all
But somewhere across the way
Sits another curious soul
Who is studying me as I entertain myself in this manner

And that person will go home and write a poem
In which they will describe
The quietly observant woman who was at the mall
On a Saturday night
Watching life pass her by….

~katiebod 1.7.06

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