Ghost In The Mall Scene

I see a spirit rising over fake luminescent evergreens.
Through rags of rough silver hair, he hangs from the ceiling;
His undead magic destroyed by a mortal leash.
He seems so docile, so out of place,
Hanging and priced and plastic,
Like a bastion of Halloween towering over a plot of early Christmas trees,
Harvested far too soon, and set out before the wares of his holiday.

I wonder what this ghost of consumerism
Must think as his unholy day is
Smothered by the holiest. I listen close, his mouth is agape,
As if in the midst of a scream, or a cry, or a whip of disgusted sound,
But nothing comes. He wants to reply, but his voice is
Lost in the silent rustle of a windless plastic forest,
And the footsteps of sale hungry housewives.
Beasts in their own right.