Remember how toilet paper
Made its comeback
Onto supermarket shelves, slowly,
Carefully, roll by roll,
Bulk pack by bulk pack,
As if it were sniffing the air
For any sign of the panic
That had wiped its predecessors from the shelves?
There is nothing sadder or more frightening
Than the sight of empty supermarket aisles
To we who have lost the knowledge
Of how to use our hands
For anything other than texting,
Using a remote control
(which is pretty much the same as texting)
Or peeling price stickers off
Plastic wrapped gifts ordered online.
When I was living in Tennant Creek
One year there was one of those
Huge storms that dumped so much rain
It cut off the Stuart Highway and the train.
Supermarket supplies had to be flown in.
I remember my mother complaining,
But I never noticed a lack of toilet paper.
Not that I used it.
I just used to shit in the yard,
Wipe my arse with grass, and keep playing,
A trick I had learned from the Aboriginal kids.
These days, shitting in the yard
And wiping your arse with grass is frowned upon.
So after 2 weeks of Corona Virus pandemonium,
With my stock of toilet paper dangerously low,
I ventured to the supermarket
And out of sheer luck
Found 2 packets of party serviettes
Pushed up the back of one very lonely shelf.
I took them, leaving my dignity behind,
At the same time appreciating
The grotesque parody of the food-to-mouth cycle.
When I got to the checkout,
The girl behind her plexiglass screen
Shook her head and told me
I could only have one packet.
I was indignant.
They had let hoarders waddle out
With trolleys full of toilet paper
And now I was restricted to one packet
Of serviettes?
Voices on the TV had tried to soothe us:
There is no problem with supply chains.
I shouted back at the TV, pointing
At the stock footage of yawning empty shelves:
“Then what do you call that?”
Someone was talking shit.
Maybe they needed the serviettes
More than I did?
© shaun patrick green
