A Lament for Davis-Kidd

Screw ye, Davis-Kidd Booksellers,
Screw ye in thine arse
As ye hath screwn thine loyal patrons
Of whom many shall ne'er return.

O! 'Tis a wondrous thing
A place of new dwelling in fancy surrounds
Whilst alone and empty thine old building sighs,
It pines for old lovers to park at its step.

Ne'er again will I grandly descend
Thy cascading staircase of majesty.
Or sit alone in my private nook
Oblivious to the world outside.

Ye hath forsaken us lovers
For mallrats and housewives,
A hitching post for transients
En route to Claire's and Baby Gap.

Round and round I drove today
Fifteen minutes all told,
Dodging stop-sign runners and dunces
In a cut throat wasteland of cars.

Time and again I hovered
Hawklike behind fat ladies with keys
As they left Cheesecake Factory scraps
In their SUV's backseats.

With shakes of their heads
I knew to keep moving
As they returned once again
To that sprawling building of greed.

Is that why you left us,
O Davis-Kidd Booksellers?
For greed is a wretched mistress,
And kind are those ye hath shunned.