“Inching Toward Third”
A Mort Laitner Poem
As a child of the Fifties,
I knew we were always headed toward home.
Blessed with the Five and Dimes, Woolworth’s and McCrory’s
On revolving stools, I spun around
Munching on my middle-class BLTs,
With chips and a pickle segregated on a clean white porcelain plate.
I knew the nation traveled in straight lines always directed toward home.
As a child of the Fifties,
We shopped at Sears,
which begat K-mart,
which begat Walmart,
which begat the death of Downtown,
Which begat inching toward third.
