Primark on a Saturday

Primark on Saturday is my idea of hell
Trip Advisor reviews of Primark Oxford Street
warn us not to go
for Primark it would seem
is everybody’s idea of hell

It’s Victoria Station in rush hour
People cutting across each other’s path
It’s the Ikea of the clothing world
Manic, daunting and where’s the exit?

A rugby scrum, a babble of different languages
Shopping carts on wheels
Children diving under racks
Clothes displayed too high to reach

People grabbing, reaching, queuing, stressing
Teens with headphones, bored and sulking husbands,
ladies in saris and bin bag burkhas
and wanton women scantily clad

Everything sold at bargain bucket prices,
shapeless crumpled garments
loose threads, hems hanging
Just think of who made them
On a dollar a day

I’m stressed, I’m sweating,
It’s as hot as an inferno
Where’s the escalator?
Where’s the changing room?
Where’s the God-damn exit?
Just get me out of here
I’m not a celebrity
And if I was I wouldn’t shop here

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