Black Friday

Black Friday – the Great Shopping Glean

In the pavements of the town the queues do grow,
Each shopper armed with a bright‑coloured voucher,
Cameras flash, the air hums with the low‑humm of "Cash."
The shelf‑in‑a‑shelf of discount, a win‑vacuum.

The mall’s gin‑giant wish‑mirror trembles in a tense glow,
A snippet of a future remembered, tinsel and wires:
There’s a “cheapest‑ever” in each display’s friend‑fire:
The smell of cheap perfumes “fills the whole artery.”

In bright neon sign “Scrummer!” the words are read,
A svelte tourist hurrying along the “shopping centre.”
From the front counter to the end of the “electronic” –
The best of the week’s “deals” are warm and required.

With the trolleybeats echo across the tear‑torn floor,
The ones who stumbled (forgot their mugs, their bags)
Are still “in the shop” – they will be on the trade of a story:
The end of it, in the world of “Black Friday” is where it begins.