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The Mall Periodically nervous merchants Peeked out from their shops, Squeezed smiles from their Worried faces when noticed by Another, gathered discreetly In groups of twos and threes, Whispered who knows what Into the chests of one another. Rancid rumours ran rampant, Rancor loitered in every corner, Security cameras and microphones Silently scanned the empty, Sterile corridors for incidents, The cleaning lady listened for Tidbits to take to the absentee Owners who watched on their Laptops from who knows where, Watched for the people who Never arrived. Like a kaleidoscope that’s broken When held up to your eye, The mall was dead, The atmosphere dry. Stephen Nesbitt ©
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