Commercial intent, he said.
They said his nose was out of joint,
Because he smelt commercialization.
“You just hate anything commercial.”
But he grimaced at the candy smell in the foyer of a cinema
That was in the shop of a petrol station.
It was the smell that made him bark “Commercial intent”
And the manager was there to hear it.
The candy smell was smothering and moldy
No wonder he cried out
As life was choked out and inseminated with artificial popcorn, but
Could this be a matter of sour grapes?
As just the day before he had been given white bread for dinner.
Like the times he had been at the cinema he brought down curses on the place he was now standing.
In the shop of a petrol station.
There was such a mess.