Walmart Wizard ~ Cora Martin

I met a wizard behind the Walmart

As I fled that hellscape in a panic.

Squeaky wheels and radio-hollered deals

Drove me to flee the store, far past manic.

 

The wizard, robed in bright blue, caught my arm.

“Where you going?” breathed his pungent smoke breath.

His wise eyes, brown and bloodshot, searched my own

And his gaze pinned me down, as still as death.

 

His brow softened, understanding my plight

And he pulled me far from the Walmart’s back;

A black felt hat bobbing upon his head.

The concrete walk turned to packed dirt track.

 

The clamor of Memorial faded,

Replaced by wind rustling dry leaves above,

By the thumping of boots on earth and roots,

By the hollow pipes of a mourning dove.

 

The wind pushed me out to a sunny place

And down a soft slope to a placid stream

Lined with blushed primrose and marsh marigolds.

Minnows darted in the sun’s dappled beam.

 

A warm breeze rippled through the marshy grass

And flitted up the hillside out of view.

It wound its way through sunny wood sorrel;

‘Mongst sunset hued indian paintbrush blew.

 

Down the way, the ridge grew dark with violets.

Pale liseran purple and mauve bloomed near,

And faded into vibrant munsell hue,

And again, to palatinate severe.

 

Sprigs of false garlic and stalks of fleabane

Punctuated the spread like stars on high.

A tranquil peace breathed in the fragrant wind—

Until a carhorn blared its angry cry.

 

I snapped back into the world of the real,

The world of blaring color and harsh noise,

The world of breathless stress and staring eyes,

The ugly, the uncaring, the hateful.

 

I saw the creek in its concrete bed,

Lined with wilted flowers and algae.

I saw the detention pond’s wall slope,

Covered in a wide array of weeds.

 

And yet, there I was; comfortable, serene;

My thoughts my own in the relative hush.

The flowers still grew, the wind still whispered.

The birds still hunted in the sunset’s blush.

 

I turned to thank the kindly old wizard

Who’d led me to this pocket of repose

But all I saw was empty air. He’d gone.

Vanished, I thought, where only the sun knows

 

I made my way up the hill, to the trees

When I saw him leaning against an oak,

Black brick hatted, sweet skunk smelling angel.

With a silent nod, he finished his smoke.

 

No words passed between us on the path back,

But I followed him again through the trees.

His Walmart-blue vest (secretly a cape)

Hung on his arm, aflutter in the breeze.