Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!

In the form of a poem about the January sales.

The January Sale

Black Friday and Christmas didn’t cause enough strife,

To put you off malls and shopping for life,

It seems that spending’s become a bad habit,

And commercials encourage with, ”Last Chance To Grab It!”

You valiantly decide to get out in the thicket,

Declaring, “There’s just no rest for the wicked!”

Your family regard you, somewhat perplexed,

As you defiantly counter, “There’s a SALE on at Next!”

You hold your resolve and venture to town,

Wrapped up in your coat and wearing a frown,

And a purposeful look leaving others no doubt,

You’re ready to battle and give it some clout!

You jostle and elbow, working up muscle,

Through over-fed crowds that are still farting brussels,

Who seem to have lost any sense of good manners,

Now hypnotised by the red SALE banners.

You undo your scarf as you make a mad dash,

Cos it’s causing a terrible prickly-heat rash,

Itching and sweaty and dreadfully frail,

You finally reach the reduced clothing rails.

It’s last years old stock, much to your chagrin,

But you made a commitment to land a good bargain,

You grab out at anything close to your size,

In the hope you might land a fruitful surprise.

You wait in the queue for a year and a day,

And before you drop dead you’re back on your way,

To show the naysayers your fabulous gear, 

And how much money you’ve saved this New Year.

But as you start to undo all the wrapping,

You realise that someone should give you a slapping,

There’s clearly no doubt you are out of your mind,

If you thought all this tat was a genius find.

The leopard print dress with the top-to-toe zipper,

Would only look right on an overweight stripper,

And the jumpsuit you snagged in neon cerise,

Should have people calling the fashion police.

The granny-fied corset they said defies gravity,

Is nothing short of a visual travesty,

And doomed to make any new romance go south,

Cos it just made you throw up a bit in your mouth.

The jumper, though cashmere, a heinous mistake,

Tried on by so many it has lost all its shape,

And spoiled by a mark much like dried up saliva,

Which explains why the thing was only a fiver.

Your audience mock and pass comments quite snide,

And profess what a nice time they’ve had stuck inside,

To go to the sales is absurd and insane,

And you’ve only your easily-led self to blame.

You snatch at the hideous things you have bought,

Trying to think of a smart-arse retort,

And then comes a moment of God-given clarity,

“At least I’ve got something to donate to charity!”

~Jules Smith ~ January 2019