Just look. This window is illuminated
By the light of television sets,
And the faces jumping around on them,
Each tuned into a different channel,
Each one a different picture size
So that in one, a head looms larger than life,
In another, as small as your fingernail.

Another window is full of rolls of Indian fabric,
In all the colors of the rainbow,
Every pattern you could think of.
There are Spanish leather jackets,
Egyptian cotton shirts, Persian rugs,
Shoes from Italy, t-shirts made in Taiwan,
Hand painted English porcelain.

There's a window full of Christmas decorations,
A window decorated for Halloween.

There are windows full of maniquins of girls
Wearing evening gowns and stockings and pearls,
Windows of telephones, gloves, scented soap, candles,
Lighting fixtures, coffee makers,
Stuffed animals that stand on their hind legs and talk,
Windows of gold fish swimming in aquariums,
Maniquins of men wearing jackets and ties.

These department store windows sparkle with jewelry,
Watches, bottles of cologne, mirrors,
Handbags, lingerie, high heeled shoes,
Swimwear, sun tan lotion, sunglasses.

You look in window after window,
Without buying anything. You never buy anything.
You never come to buy anything.
Then why do you come?