The Genius Loci of Westfield

Melodious pitch as you sweetly sing
broken by utterings across tannoy
through aisles and over tiles you ring
to chivy consumers; soothe the annoyed

Your tempting fragrance hangs on the air,
lavender soap and rich rose perfume,
filling the senses and defusing care
lifting the mind and joining soul mid-bloom

Glinting in ribbons, your dazzling bling
catching the light in small shards like stars.
A place of worship for those buying
trinkets or little things or sipping at bars

As the day duly darkens and feet grow tired
your sheets crawl down to block the way
to those with features, cold, stern and hard
who, with still lips, bid shoppers good-day


(Alternative ending:

Forever following with blankless eyes
those beings expressionless: smooth, stern, cold
who hush the chained and stifle cries
of those worse off, crushed by Mammon of old)

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For the next 100 days, I’m going to write 100 sonnets. Preferably, one sonnet a day.



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