A little poem about the retail industry

Image from topnews.in

From the first “Exkuche me you work here?”
I knew. Completely ignorant of: the name
tag stapled on my chest (mark of the bondsman),
I’m the only one within sight,
not to mention weko in hand – I knew
that you would ask not one but a series
of questions all answerable with eyes
third grade literacy and a mildly active
brain.  You possess none of these faculties,
approach with dull consumerist eyes,
permanent shuffling dead doe and I
know in another time/place without
pampers you would be the first to
go, look dumbfound at sabered teeth
wondering, what big teeth.
All thought while I show you around
the store. “How much? How little? No sale? Sure? Go Check.”
I go come back find you dumping
contents of various boxes.  Don’t see
display on the table? Never in life.
Oblivious barrel roll through life,
constant accumulation of (not wealth)
goods – too much? Space Bags! As seen on
TV bestseller by idly smiling (not quite drool)
customer. I smile polite, professional
(die) and point to price on box.

No comments: