The Azda


I park carefully
to avoid adding dints
to the Range Rover in the next bay.

Azda’s cathedral entrance
dwarfs me
its rough concrete sculpture
‘price down forever ‘
a megalith promise for megalith minds.

Eddy my friendly greeter
is too busy too smile
fiddling with his mike
getting ready
for his five minutes of fame.

I squint through energy saving light
enhancing the unreality
of this hanger of wealth
the third world would find
obscene.

I keep away from the chill counters
amputee offerings
grape-red shrink-wrapped
knuckle bones
in regimented display
for us carnivores.

Hiding my white goods
in a green basket
I wish the till would stop singing
so I can hurry away
I don’t want neighbors to see my disgrace
but I will say
I've just been down The Azda.

By Simon White