The Blooms

A
long

thin
foot-traffic

buffed
to a

high gloss,
brass strip,

across
a similarly

reflective, stainless
steel line

of floor-plating
that stretched

across
from the fruit

section to where
the wafer-shaved
mortadella resided

in the refrigerated,
glass-fronted
burnished
steel chambers

Beside
bain-maries

Filled with
roast chickens
and lamb shank

Roast dinners

In hot
aluminium

Containers
for all

The homeless
people

To purchase

Since there were

So, very

many

Of them

On the
streets

and on
the beach

Nearby

There
was a
small distance

separating

Them

From the
checkouts

and
The front

Car-park

Facing

Floor to
ceiling

Windows,

Where

Automatic
Doors

were
slid open

by
the

unfortunate,

invisible,

Electric,
Henchmen,

Forced
to work

There

For $4.37
an
hour.

All across the country

This burnished brass
and stainless steel

Line

Crossed the floor

In the exact
Same position

In every

Built

supermarket

An extraneous
addition

Made

Upon,
the express

Whim

of the Major

share

Holder

and
there,

purely due

To the
forms

Of these
metals

Relating closely

In textural

Resemblance

and
visual nature
 
to
a
strip

Of both

Silver

and,

of
gold.

The sudden
final,

and
funereal,

removal,

of these meat-pies,

Along with

All

Of their variants

Including;

The Pasties

and the
Cottage Pies,

They
who were there,

and,

All of the party pies,
too!

With their
little party 

going on
right

next to
the sausage rolls

Who,

although different

from
each other

they all
got along,

right
there

Together

Next to
each
Other

Just fine!

There,

In the cool,

Preserving Section

of the,
somewhat,
wasteful
of electricity,
open-air
refrigerators
which really existed.

Housing,

The Party-Pie Party!

Like the man
with 
glowing hands,
emitting light,
gone home,
for the night
from the party,
at the house,
with no electricity,

These,
easily detachable

and relocatable
shelves
upon which
they sat

Had
Now

Been

Removed

Of These
Previously Featured

crusty meat
items

And Had Been
Rehoused

Along with Them

On an occasion

Whilst within

The sight

Of the intense,

Filterless,

Ultra-violet,

Reflected Sun
Flare

Vitiligo

Of the
Above

Empty

Car-park
Spring

5.06 AM
Full Moon

By:
Night-packer,

(aged seventeen),

named Nigel,
Nursing,

beneath his
rolled-up

shirt-sleeves,

the Glad-wrapped,

Painful,

permanent
reminder,

Of the Previous

Night's Tattooing,

He'd
under

Gone.

These
moved along
pies,

Relegated,
like
a wingless
locust

at the plague

After a
publicly
visible,

live-streamed

on every
known platform

of social-media

Exposing projections
of inferior inadequacy

To suffer mass
embarrassment

With forty
six
million views

and,
an encyclopedic

word count's worth

of derogatory comments
degree of volume level
of extremity
in humiliation
to the status
of any

Australian icon

food object,

(Including Vegemite)

For,

It is

Known by experts

To be true.

Beginning back

On the previous
night,

Heaped up
at the back

of the shopping
facility,

placed,

like a captured
bush ranger

in a clean,
white cotton shirt,

sucking on his,
(no-smoking allowed in the executioners' chamber),
'Big Boss',
musk stick

cigar

Valiantly,

Gallantly,

Refusing,
a blindfold.

Standing against
a rough
rock
wall

with damp
whitewash
fresh

Upon it

Waiting

For
those
final
impacted splats

of tomato sauce

to appear,
and rip holes

through rib-bone

and vital organ

in a swiftly,

terminal
instant

Awaiting

The firing-squad

Commander's order.

To execute

Facing the back

Wall

Opposite

The Miser's Dollar
per liter*

Milk fridges

Facing away

From the front

Toward the back

And the exits

At the very end,
of the supermarket

Facing an opposing wall

Behind which,

stood

The staff

Rooms

and
storage rooms

Filled by
everything

That wasn't

On display

During

The commercial

Breaks.

These

Aussie icon,

Objects of consumption

With,

once
eaten

Instantaneous
Transformation

into 100% Bogan
magic spell-power
imbued

Gourmet tucker,

Of All

Aussies.

The 'Rat's Coffin'

butt
of some,

in the
Asian region's

joke

According to
one grade
three

kid
to another

on the playground

And?

If the
existence

Of this

joke

Really was

True?

It's hilarious.

The meat pie

The open menu
choice

For final meal
of the condemned

To death

Stereotypical,
Non-existent,
Australian

(or SNA)

Once,

And for all,

Replaced.

From

Now

On

(and,
after),

with the
petal

and stamen's
pollen fruit,

of
the blooms,

marked
down

to
only

$5.00
from
$8.50

a bunch

and
still,

not
selling.

Wilting
under

Express
reduction

As though

They

Were intended

For a funeral,

and wake

For the
actual,

Planet
Earth

Instead

Having heard

The news

The night

Before

An occasion,

With No

Returned
RSVP,

Nor
any,

Attendees

Available,

At,
All.








*Price subject to a minimum two liter purchase.