The last K-Mart department store in the country
is closing today, and I am reminded suddenly
of those long-ago Saturday afternoons, following
through the tall grass and weeds which ran
alongside the junkyard, fresh quarters in hand
for finishing our weekend chores, to be quickly spent
on some small novelty, or if we had pooled
our money, a new hamster to replace the one we
had just buried, our first undeniable shock
at the fleetingness of this world and all it holds.
I am reminded, too, of my brother's name
for the store: Came-Apart, which never failed
to make us laugh, remember back-to-school shopping
with our tired mother, the generic Trax sneakers
and stiff, creased denim of Husky jeans, which
became the tell-tale wardrobe of welfare kids and
project brats -- which is to say, many of us.
I remember blue light specials in the cafeteria,
and our family TV and sofa on layaway.
I wonder what will become of the gumball stands,
the rusted merry-go-round and plastic pony
outside the entrance that you could sit atop for a nickel,
dreaming of faraway prairies and open sky.
No doubt they will be hauled away for the indignity
of the landfill, or to some industrial warehouse,
while my brother sleeps the same silent sleep
that he has mastered for more than twenty years,
not far from here, not far from anywhere.
When last I checked, that shortcut was still there.
