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The Day My Mall Died
Brian C. Billings

When I went home in between my degrees,
my sister said, “Today they close the mall.
I haven’t driven out there too much these
days, but you should go. The stores are all
having blow-outs. You could grab some CDs
from F.Y.E. or some of those shorts you like
at Penney’s. You won’t have another chance.”
So I took myself to the mall, and I made the hike
from the coin fountain in the south to the food court
on the far side. I walked blindly—lost in a trance,
perfumed in a corndog fog. I tried to sort
out how childhood dies in the blink of an eye.
The escalators wheezed a weak retort:
”Established 1976.” And I thought, So was I.

—
Brian C. Billings is a professor of English and drama at Texas A&M University-Texarkana, where he also serves as the editor-in-chief for Aquila Review. His poems have appeared in Abandoned Mine, Ancient Paths, Argestes, The Bluebird Word, Confrontation, Evening Street Review, and The Woven Tale Press.

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