The Prisoner
Can anybody help me please?
I live my life in fear.
I have recurring nightmares of
Being trapped inside IKEA.
I go in for a single bulb,
The sort only they sell,
And claustrophobia soon sets in,
My senses go through hell.
I stand amidst a sea of beds;
I'm spinning as I shout,
"I hate this place! I hate this place!
How do I get out?"
Hordes of frantic shoppers
With yellow shoulder bags;
Men with rimless glasses
Waving Swedish flags.
I dream that I'm surrounded;
Attacked by steel utensils;
Stabbed by shiny kitchen knives
And stubby little pencils.
Flat packs tower around me,
Shelf on shelf on shelf;
A whole lifetime's sentence of
Do it your bloody self.
Just once I made it to the door
And out - "Freedom!" I cried.
But then a giant meatball came
To bring me back inside.
I reached the final checkout;
On a trolley there I lay
In a self assembed coffin,
(A choice of white or grey.)
© Dave Carr
You're too good, you are.
ReplyDeleteThis has all the attributes of an epic piece of writing:
(a) well-observed;
(b) beautifully constructed;
(c) a complete and true account with nothing overlooked;
(d) superbly crafted and, most importantly,
(e) gives a terrific kick in the fork to something, loved only by complete and utter morons, overdue a good battering!
This brought such a smile to my face. Anyone, anywhere who has ever been to Ikea (which surely is everyone!) will relate to this. Very very funny and so true!
ReplyDelete