Packets of cigarettes, undisplayed
at point of sale, self-ignite,
sparked up in the name of the Lord.
Automatic doors open and close
on a radiance that’s consumed
the car park, made isotopes
of the uncollected trolleys.
Air-conditioning gives up the ghost.
The freezer aisles spurt steam.
Our Father, who art in frozen goods
Beer cans circumvent the ring pull,
champagne corks are tiny meteors
flaring from fizz to finality.
Hallowed be thy clubcard
Thine is the damaged item
Thine the discontinued line of stock
Thine is the no refunds policy
Thine the dies irea, the day
after the use by date.
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