Upon revisiting the mall from my childhood, I found it had wizened
in my absence.  A tacky indoor playground, open exclusively 
Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, has replaced the double decker carousel
I used to admire as my parents dragged me back to the car.  Instead of cheery
plastic giraffes, display cases hawk Kraft gummies and other candy anomolies.  Shops my family used to frequent, the Gymboree
whose memory lives on in polka
dotted boxes that hold Christmas presents each year, the Disney Store whose whimsical
facade I’ve all but forgotten, are gone, succeeded by unsellable empty spaces,
or worse, fast fashion outlets
and secondhand DVD retailers, these establishments no more permanent
than a dying man’s wheezing gasps.   

Thank heavens for Great American Cookies, the feeble heartbeat
of the mall I remember.  No matter how much Amazon’s convenience infatuates
us, we haven’t lost our respect for the humble biscuit.  The sugar cookies,
are just like they used to be–crust coated with crushed rainbows,
chewy center soft from heat lamps, aftertaste
just sugary enough to make me search for a still-functioning
water fountain, but not too cloying for me to regret
nibbling on sweet nostalgia 
before the mall of my childhood flatlines, exhales its last.