Blank-Mart ... a monologue

Monologue for the modern retail slave.

The snuffed match trails its ghostly path,
leaving behind the lurid scent of sulfur and old birthday candles.

The first drag of the morning cigarette soothes my thoughts;
perhaps it's the knowledge that, at the very least, it's one part of my life I can control.

I imbibe the first pungent puff with resentful zeal,
knowing the controlled chaos that lies, waiting, in my near future.

The voices, the clatter, the bags, and the cash;
the retail purgatory that has become my life.

Like a man on death row, I am uniformed and numbered;
painfully awaiting the deadening moment I pass through the doors.

The soulless monotony of my occupation
leaves a cynical outlook in my eyes,
and the taste of death in my mouth;
coffee and cigarettes, caffeine and hydrogen cyanide
.....Retail smile.


-J.Hewitt