people were yelling `I've been on line since yesterday morning,'"
[a witness] said. "They kept shopping."
From the first crisp November morning tackle
that brought me down onto the stairwell floor
strewn with the glass confetti of firecrackered doors,
I felt proud with every boot to my teeth,
heels grounding down my eyes
and kneecaps, toes hummered into my groin,
again and again, I felt proud with every explosion
of my spleen and the unfurling of my guts
like leftover Turkey stuffing
to give my life even temporarily
at a minimum wage to jump-start the economy
for 9-11 pilgrims and terror warriors
in need of black-light bargains
on this most American holiday.
James Penha edits The New Verse News.