Before the boy’s stocking feet
Boxes and their tops are toppled and tossed
As a kneeling man rifles through the shoes
With no employee in sight
Tissue paper veils the decimated aisle
Like remnants of a mad Christmas
(In its low-price infancy, the giant begins to walk)
The man’s a veteran whose son may serve
As a talisman from Vietnam.
Pulling out every tongue in the section
The man reads their tags aloud: China, China, China
The boy is silent in the face
Of his father’s adopted rage
Domestically, a blue vested employee
Shuffles over to hand the boy a yellow sticker.