On shiny vinyl floors
With decades of stains I walk
In my post war, neo capitalist life.
The crackled nasal voice cry’s:
Clean up in aisle five.
Angry red shirts and cowled hoods.
I keep my eyes downcast,
To stop them intruding on my world.
An acne covered youth,
Leans suggestively near the checkout girl.
And I wonder where the beauty in life lies.
Not in this concrete hub.
Or at least life as I want to see it.
A false impression of breathing.
Where clawing hands scramble
For the latest freezer bargains.
And an old woman in a tracksuit,
Hiding pre packed ham in her bra.
Metal tin walls, a consumer prison.
As ammonia fumes swarm my vision.
As brightly coloured labels seek to imprint upon my brain.
And the mad man walks past talking to himself,
Or is that me? or is it just a blue tooth headset?
As he repeats his shopping mantra:
Bread, Milk, chips, twizlers a Lottery ticket.
Sale, half price, 50% off, Buy one get one free.
Do you have a loyalty card?
I don’t, my cheeks redden.
Everything here has a price,
The people and the items.
Nothing here is real,
The people and the items.