Crossgates Mall, Not for the Faint of Heart.

I visited Crossgates a few days after Christmas because I engage in self-torture. After leaving the mall I had an urge to write a poem about my experience there. The poem is highly exaggerated and includes mostly fabricated events but, I think the poem is an accurate portrayal of what Crossgates has become.

Twas the days after Christmas   

And all through the mall

All the creatures were stirring

most of them big but some small.

The wiggers were lurking   

By the stores with a glare

In hopes that the GPD

would no sooner be there

The children were nestled

In the food court lines

While visions of Baconators

Danced in their minds

And momma's in her wife beater, and I in my cap 

had just settled down for some "Chicken Now" crap

when out in front of Aldo's arose such a clatter

That I sprang up from Sbarro's to see what was the matter

Away to the action I ran in a flash

I tore through some lady who appeared to have a rash

It was the fist on the face of some fallen dirtbag

that encouraged cheers from spectators and comrades.

And I knew in this moment it must be mall rats

and guys from upstate who like to smoke crack

the cops whistled and shouted

And called them by name

Now "Fat Kid" now "Scumbag" now "Emo Kid" now "Psycho"

On "Old Pervert" on "Meth Face" on "Homeless Guy" on "Schizo".

To the mall police station they went, this moment is savored

Don't dash away, don't dash away, or you all will be tasered. 

So with a wink of his eye and a twist of his head

The police alerted the people that there was nothing to dread

For, this was routine and nothing out of the sort

He cuffed up the dirtbags and we returned to the food court.   

Off to the bathroom, laying a finger on her nose

this random girl gave me a nod then snorted up her blow   

She sprang to her feet and ran to the door

Then flew away like a dirty coke whore

But I heard myself exclaim

as she went out of sight

"Get me the fuck out of here

Something's not right."