Black Friday Lament

We stood outside, in the wintry cold,
The sun not rising, the sky not gold.
Huddled together, laughing and talking,
Waiting for bargains, none of us balking.
I found myself wishing I’d stayed in bed,
There, I’d be warm, but, no, instead,
I got up early, got dressed and left,
To make my way here, and what a mess.
A throng of thousands, to stand behind,
I wish I could say I didn’t mind,
People shivering, their teeth were chattering,
Regretting coming here, but it not mattering.
Black Friday sales, our battle cry,
And no one dared to ask us why
Frenzied and paranoid, we stood together,
None impervious to the weather.
Cupping hot coffee in our shaking hands,
Nervously huddled, we carefully scanned
Our competition, our nemesis—rivals,
For the goods we sought, even the trifles.
With cynical eyes, we sized them all up,
Our search for gifts, they’d not disrupt.
Pity the poor souls, who might get in our way,
Goliath, himself, could not hold us at bay.
Cracking our knuckles, to try to look menacing,
Bolstered by history, some reminiscing,
Of Black Fridays that had gone before,
Past battles won—most minus the gore.
Bruised, with some left battered and broken,
Moving too slow once the doors opened.
Despite our injuries, cuts, blackened eyes,
None of us are ever surprised
When Black Friday arrives the following year.
We’ll see the same faces, gathered right here.

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