Crossgates Mall, Not for the Faint of Heart

I visited Crossgates a few days after Christmas because I engage in self-torture. After leaving the mall I had an urge to write a poem about my experience there. The poem is highly exaggerated and includes mostly fabricated events but, I think the poem is an accurate portrayal of what Crossgates has become.

Twas the days after Christmas  
And all through the mall
All the creatures were stirring
most of them big but some small.

The wiggers were lurking  
By the stores with a glare
In hopes that the GPD
would no sooner be there

The children were nestled
In the food court lines
While visions of Baconators
Danced in their minds

And momma's in her wife beater, and I in my cap
had just settled down for some "Chicken Now" crap
when out in front of Aldo's arose such a clatter
That I sprang up from Sbarro's to see what was the matter

Away to the action I ran in a flash
I tore through some lady who appeared to have a rash
It was the fist on the face of some fallen dirtbag
that encouraged cheers from spectators and comrades.

And I knew in this moment it must be mall rats
and guys from upstate who like to smoke crack
the cops whistled and shouted
And called them by name

Now "Fat Kid" now "Scumbag" now "Emo Kid" now "Psycho"
On "Old Pervert" on "Meth Face" on "Homeless Guy" on "Schizo".
To the mall police station they went, this moment is savored
Don't dash away, don't dash away, or you all will be tasered.

So with a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
The police alerted the people that there was nothing to dread
For, this was routine and nothing out of the sort

He cuffed up the dirtbags and we returned to the food court.  

Off to the bathroom, laying a finger on her nose
this random girl gave me a nod then snorted up her blow  
She sprang to her feet and ran to the door
Then flew away like a dirty coke whore

But I heard myself exclaim
as she went out of sight
"Get me the fuck out of here
Something's not right."