the time Mom used to work there, and she wore a big, blue apron with big, blue pockets—she was young grocery store-blackened bare feet, the snack area’s giant, rotating Icee, orange booths and fake-wood-panel tables more art supplies, more books, more Sam’s everythings, variety, variety packs, cases of variety packs the kiddie pool that peeled off the wall in a hailstorm, the one we caught and held as a shield, and ice beat our ankles to be pushed in a cart, to ride a metal horse for a quarter, to test the fur of Teddy Ruxpin’s mechanical mouth this space, these chunks of wall, ribs of twisted rebar, this empty parking lot, a crumpled receipt

JESSICA M. LOCKHART is from Selma, Alabama, and she teaches composition at Mississippi State University. Her poems have appeared in Storm Cellar Quarterly, Sixfold, and Verse-Virtual. She serves as Poetry Editor at Blinders Journal.