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"Lord of the Shopping Aisles (a poem)"

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Sun 15/09/02 at 22:45
Regular
Posts: 787
Lord of the Shopping Aisles

As my shift begins
I am re-baptised
By the 5 character limit
Of the shopping till
I become Kiera
Master of nothing
And lord of the shopping aisles

My dominion is eight feet
By ten and the little space
Where I stand unelected
To sell petrolium to the masses
And cancer to the rest
In sticks and tins
And boxes and bags
I metre out death
To all who ask
And they always ask

Each removed nozzle
Sets off the cacophonous howl
Of the “call waiting” alert
That drives me insane
And between the petrolium guzzlers
And cancer requests
I wonder if this purgatory
For sins I’ve yet to commit

My heart isn’t in this
Only my corporate soul
That counts the notes
In the weekly pay
And promises to quit one day
When I’m ahead
(of what?)
Of my dreams perhaps
Or at least my debts.

And at closing time
As I clock out
I am de-baptised
In the netherworld light
That is all that remains
As I lock the doors
And cycle through cold twilight streets
Past abandoned cars and
The derelicts’s asthmatic wheeze
Towards home and sleep
Sun 15/09/02 at 23:03
Regular
Posts: 353
It is not bad but it coould be better.
Sun 15/09/02 at 22:45
Regular
"funky blitzkreig"
Posts: 2,540
Lord of the Shopping Aisles

As my shift begins
I am re-baptised
By the 5 character limit
Of the shopping till
I become Kiera
Master of nothing
And lord of the shopping aisles

My dominion is eight feet
By ten and the little space
Where I stand unelected
To sell petrolium to the masses
And cancer to the rest
In sticks and tins
And boxes and bags
I metre out death
To all who ask
And they always ask

Each removed nozzle
Sets off the cacophonous howl
Of the “call waiting” alert
That drives me insane
And between the petrolium guzzlers
And cancer requests
I wonder if this purgatory
For sins I’ve yet to commit

My heart isn’t in this
Only my corporate soul
That counts the notes
In the weekly pay
And promises to quit one day
When I’m ahead
(of what?)
Of my dreams perhaps
Or at least my debts.

And at closing time
As I clock out
I am de-baptised
In the netherworld light
That is all that remains
As I lock the doors
And cycle through cold twilight streets
Past abandoned cars and
The derelicts’s asthmatic wheeze
Towards home and sleep

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