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Susan K. Rowse

Muse of the Mule at the Mall

Getting together on Christmas Eve
The stories keep getting bigger
Like the time when I rode a quarter horse
Made of iron...his name was Trigger
He waited outside of Walmart
He was cold as cold could be
Putting a quarter in Trigger
Was like what the West should be
Day dreams in crowds of hundreds
Coming and going from cars
Doors that opened like magic
Like swinging doors on those bars
When out pop a dude with a six gun
All beaded eyes in a glare
Stare down a baby in diapers
Or a sweet thing in pink underwear
Cowpoke of the steel horse parking lot
Muse of the mule at the mall
Some of us rode the broomsticks
While short but riding so tall
Imaginations alive and well
No TV to dampen our lot
Dreaming of fiending off Indians
While being a towheaded tot
Some of us mobile while others
Were stationary
Mall kids with toys
Chasing our visionary playthings
Just me and my broomstick cowboys
It is how a child would wonder
We'd awe at the little things
The days of yonder in parking lots
With Christmas pulling our dreams
The wonder and mind of the children
Its changed in the ways that its fed
The kids all dream for the mission
When sugarplums dance in their heads
When parents are focused on Santa
When tots are left with what seems
When children dance with their fancy
Mere broomsticks and iron horse daydreams.