At the drive-in where windows fogged
with lack of interest in the movie,
where speakers on poles stood like soldiers,
even when the show was closed, they have opened
up one of those markets that feeds upon itself.
Started out with a few tables of used clothes
and some rusted tools, maybe a few bootlegged CDs,
There was something intimate in the climate
as if each vendor had opened up their closet
and let all the skeletons out.
Capitalism brings the cream to the top
and fosters a taste for heights.
The tables now lack memory: Plastic swizzle sticks
and frames that have never held a picture,
prepackaged memorabilia, even the baseball cards are fake.
The movie screen is gone, deemed a hazard
in high wind. The speakers, pilfered by kids
long past their prime, show up in markets
from sea to shining sea on tables that expose