This is the family store. It is quite a racket.
We stock nothing you’d desire and even less
you could buy.
Like it or not
it’s all that’s being offered.
We’ve got aisles stocked with criticism,
some of it nearly valid.
The loudspeaker blares a mix of muzak and
condemnation.
No one leaves here happy. No one, really, leaves.
I suggest you stay clear of dairy
because the mother’s milk is sour.
The produce is so organic it’s freckled with
dung.
Fresh does not apply unless you think fresh
kill.
It ain’t cheap, it ain’t quite dead.
Feel free to gnaw. You’ll be surprised
at just how much grief you can chew.
This is the family and what’s in store
are aisles that twist double binds.
Come on in.
You’ll be damned if you do
and damned if you don’t, so watch your step.
Today’s special, advertised in neon no less,
is paranoia.
Excuse the doors locking behind you.
Excuse the mess,
but it’s more than a store.
It’s a war zone where everyone loses.
Excuse the radiation of arrogance
the clerks have been emitting for years.
At least their advice is free.
In this store we’re all big believers
in your inability to succeed.
We’ve got no proof but plenty of faith
and here
the customer is always wrong.
This is our family store.
The one thing you’ll never see
is a Help Wanted sign.
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