by MARGARET RUCKERT

signs of a city

a tanka sequence

in this department store
glittering marble and glass
no expense spared
staff interview applicants
in the rush-hour café

no-exit signs
hang from black ceilings
in this shopping dungeon
I hear a song on repeat—
walk in prison-like circles

Christmas morning
with an air of absurdity—
shops with closed doors
advertise their frustration
in flickering neon

walking through the mall
I find nothing familiar
shops with new logos
could that noise be music
this must be old age