Tis Black Friday, as I sit here by myself.
wondering about the arguing over the retailer’s shelf.
Items marked down, with a crazy low price,
as eager bargain hunters, choose not to play nice.
One year, I was among that large mob of sorts,
fighting to keep my place in line, playing team sports.
Waiting for the store doors to open at six.
all hell broke loose, as bystanders joined the mix.
I ran with my cart for the bargain television and VCR,
they were in the middle of the store, not very far.
I scooped up one of each, and placed them in my cart,
a woman tried to take them, right there at X-Mart.
I pulled the cart back, away from her thieving reach,
then, gave her a reprimand, attempting to teach.
Despite my best intentions, to find another sale,
I decided to head for the register, and turned tail.
Safely in my car, my prized possessions in the trunk.
I sped away through the snow, like some young punk.
Never again, will I fight the Black Friday mess,
even if I must pay more for an item, not less.
Poem by David Andre Davison