Ode to Bunnings.

And on the seventh day everybody dies
Drives to Bunnings, pays two dollars fifty
For a feel-good community-conscious sausage
Trying to remember what it’s like to be alive
As we wander aimlessly from aisle to aisle
Drilling team members on pergola construction
Concrete mixing, baton fixing, soil acidity
But the staff are no use – they’re zombies too
Sold their souls for that red shirt/green apron
Combination that makes them look like Xmas trees
With their lifeless smiles and their heads on TV
What did we do with ourselves on weekends
Before “The Block” turned us into the renovating undead?
Did we find morons interesting before “Big Brother”?
Did we “drizzle” or “plate-up” before “Masterchef”?
Still there is the pull of this big tin shed
Where gift cards buy Own Brand power tools
That die in our hands after a month of use
No matter, kept the receipt, return for exchange
Our shoddy sander tipped in a dumpster with others
And sent for ‘recycling’ to China where it was made
A self-inflicted vicious circle: our need for cheap
Thrills keeps us shuffling over their concrete floors
Nothing new, of course, stole the idea from Ikea
At least in Bunnings you can find the exit doors


© shaun patrick green 2013