Poem: Retail Apocalypse

Tommy used to work on the dock.
The union's been on strike, so he's working in a shop to pay for it all.
Bad call.

It's the final countdown for him, cause the echoes of the amplifiers sound out about the approaching fall.

The kids born in 2030 may not know of the word Mall,
cause Amazon's bid to capture the market is tall.

Here we go, revolution, turn the page.

They'll probably have them on Mars though, for a while.