Once

One Mart used to be WINZ

men in orange hats worked day and night

while us lazy buggers slept

rearranging tired old

‘do this do that useless people’ walls

formerly belonged to forms.

 

I thought about the dole

once

I was ready to sell the Wii

my thoughts on urban genesis and P’s old gat.

Raoul behind the counter shook his head. It was too old.

 

Lim Chhour is D grade

you could never buy

firm apples strawberries

any soul.

 

I go there and hate my single bag

in the hand floating garlic, kumara

freezer burn whatever, yellow noodles

nothing that will make me wiser

or draw men from the street.

 

I go there and wear my black ray-bans

ghost down a plastic aisle

bumping into versions of old friends

they are well, another someone moved to Melbourne.

 

Once

every shop guy lied

on Queen by Myers

led me blind

gold coin internet

pink candy.

 

Nobody had anything

worth carrying.

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