The Spirit of the Carts
Please go gently
out into the night
of my discontent
or even into the depths
of my agony
as I stand by
the entranceof the bizarre
Oh I mean the store
called Wal-mart
where anything happens
and insanity rules
But then again sane
people are still locked up
inside their own worlds
of rose colored skies
and endless quiet days
No I rather have
my world here
after all the store
isn't haunted
or is it
I stand guard
at the doors watching
the customers hurry out
pushing the carts
with their minds
already possessed
Pleasantly filling
the parking lots
with the demon carts
Demon carts
surely something inaminate
can't be possessed
by the evil of demons
Oh yeah
then why oh why
do some of them
sing out like
raging banshees
their screeching is enough
to drive the deaf
into maniacal laughter
And the customers at first
push them away seemingly
lost in their lists
Then the carts start
their horrible song
run for the hills
they are cursed creatures
run for your lives
as the banshees raise their voices
in their horrible chorus
but whatever you do
don't give them back
the poor door greeters
have suffered enough
Finally the quiet
as the carts
quit their singing
and I slide back
inside of a dream
Once upon a midnight dreary
while I stand weak and weary
idly staring at the floor
I heard a rapping
a tap tap tapping
a rap rap rapping
on Wal-mart's door
Wait a minute
the doors are wide open
upon my Poe
that's not a cute raven
tapping at the door
quoting nevermore
but the zombie carts
thumping on the floor
Rusted grim and looking
as if they just raised
themselves from the dead
these carts hid among
the shopping carts
waiting patiently
for a sweet little lady
to innocently pick them
then thump
the tell tale heart
oops I mean the flat wheel
beats its warning on the floor
Don't go to far for I
just may refuse to move
they screech to a halt
as the ladies struggle with
their much needed goods
I swear they are put here
for the betterment of mankind
these thumping carts
they force a great workout
as they require extra
energy to push
and think of all the
money one saves on exorcising
I mean exercising
that's the Wal-mart way
I pull the bad carts
and send them to the outlands
but like some cursed souls
they stumble back to serve
hiding among the healthy
until pulled on duty
The customers stare
and the greeters swear
surely it's all a nightmare
the demon carts the zombie carts
surely they can't be back
there wasn't enough slack
for them to show up again
Dream yes it's all
a real bad dream
sent to test my qualities
the carts aren't all bad
but it's really sad
and it drives me mad
as the banshee carts
start to sing again
No one can sleep through that
maybe they're the perfect alarm
because you can't shut
these carts up
I'll be rich
I'll sell them all
just to be rid
of these talented carts
No the Geneva Convention
outlawed such torture
I wonder if Irag
wants these babies
Hey Saddam do I
have a deal for you
Paul Vernon Deffendall
April 26, 1997
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