A puppy in a ball pit

 

I excitedly bounded,

expecting a bargain.

Like a puppy in a ball pit,

a sound in an echo chamber.

A turbine in a hurricane.

 

It was the Middle of Lidl, after all.

Well, I didn't bargain

for the deal that would befall.

A deal with a man with cloven hooves,

and the sharp scent of sulphur

licking the white-bread walls.

 

Now, it’s difficult to say this

without getting theatrical.

So let us set the scene

on this aforementioned aisle

of miscellaneous, neon-lit dreams.

 

I was flowing with pure delight...

 

Ohh, dinosaur tat! A solar garden light!

A box set of books, a cheap frilly frock,

one rancid sock, a mock chandelier!

 

The rhythmic beep

of a checkout scanner,

like a heart monitor speeding up...

Beep... beep... beep... beeeeeeeeppppppp.

 

And a gateway appeared...

 

I looked around me at the masses.

Oblivious.

Well, I had to peer.

 

My expression said it all...

Fear, with just a hint of intrigue,

a sudden dash of ADHD, and a poem

starting to seed.

 

I was in another world entirely,

like a disorganised Santa’s grotto.

Only infinitely more fiery

and with less creepy elves

and no presents lining the shelves.

 

The sweat didn't just drip; it flowed right off me.

 

A low, static bass hiss rattles the metal shelves.

 

And the man spoke.

His voice slithered out from scaly, dry lips:

“I will give you every last wish.

Just sign this.”

 

I didn't pause. I didn't think.

I just let my thoughts drop

like the glass jar on aisle 5.

“I wish you would leave me alone.

I'm feeling anxious enough as it is.”

My thoughts landed with a crash and a splat.

 

A tiny puff of purple smoke.

As the air screamed:

“Oh, bugger. Probably should have

covered that possibility.”

 

<Pop>