Panic attack at the mall

Sweaty pepperoni 
hangs in stale air.
Plastic knives clatter,
diet soda slurps.

Yesterday’s teriyaki steam 
turns her stomach
from the other side 
of the tiled cage.

Fluorescent light 
beats down,
punishment 
for daring to come back.

Spotlights keep bragging 
they have more purpose 
than she does.

Their mission:
make people jealous 
of sequined hope.

She goes to the bathroom
to wash her face.
Doesn’t recognize 
the shopper. 

Hands melt 
under searing water.
She wants to feel again.

Blow dryer screams;
she files a near-death report.
Suffocation by sound—
the dryer wins by default.

Mall cop denies the claim:
it was just doing its job.

Impending doom 
takes shape,
mannequins listening all along.

Breath shorter
than the teenager 
at the register.

She shakes harder
than the milkshake machine.

Brain twists—
half sugar, 
half rot.