Closing Down Sale

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Let’s go Saturday shopping on the high 
street, where the army of mobility 
scooters roll over empty packets of 
insulin, as easy jets leave viper
trails in the snakeskin clouded horizon.

We’re caught up in the supermarket sweep
of dwindling shelves, as we help ourselves to
what we need. The headlines scream ‘leave means leave,’ 
as we struggle and heave multi-packs of 
toilet rolls into groaning trolleys. Our 
stock-pile smiles are straining at the leash, 
because we know, it’s a closing-down sale.

The butcher is busy hacking away 
at chlorinated chicken breasts. Beware.
He’s a Leaver with a meat cleaver. He’s 
got something to say. A thought of the day 
he read in the Daily Mail.  He's hiding 
the best cuts for the sweet-shop lady, who 
bit all the heads off the jelly babies.
She's pushing ahead of the queue for the 
bread. She knows, it's a closing-down sale.

'Rule Britannia' plays over the tannoy 
as trolleys rattle past the confection
section. Radio talk of another 
election. A final confrontation 
for the airbag sighing at the stressed-out 
checkout. We don't know what it’s all about.
The only thing we know for sure is this,
it's a closing-down sale.

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