TWO LITTLE LIDLS; POEM.

Two little Lidls

(on the opening of a second Lidl store in Sligo Town)

The blue and yellow logo                  

emerges from the gloom

like the lights of a rescue ship,

like the promise of greatness.

There is a second Lidl in town

and Finisklin, where it resides,

is now like one of

those once sleepy villages that get

a Virgin apparition,

a moving statue, a picture of Jesus

in a slice of toast:

the pilgrims are already flocking

to this part of the town that,

for twenty-two hours of each day

used to be as dead as Christmas.

Now, the line of cars stretches from the mid-block

junction down to Finisklin, the Ursuline and the railway

bridge; all landmarks of my childhood.

I grew up five hundred empty metres away

and this road has never seen so much activity,

so many craving a bargain,

such an intense desire for random

novelty.

They come for cheap drill bits,

anti-splatter shields, bike panniers,

children’s gloves, ladies’ jeggings,

patio lights, car fuses, garlic presses,

high-vis vests, nose-hair trimmers,

steam irons, first-aid kits,

mani-pedi sets, gym balls,

apfel strudel.

The hungry faithful

enter with their heads bowed

and handle the merchandise with wonder,

as they would a saint’s leg-bone or

a piece of the true cross.

This, finally, will put our place on the map;

it is what we have been crying out for

for decades.

Now we are whole, now we can

hold our head up high and take our

place at the top table of

the Irish urban landscape.

After all, what self-respecting town has

only one Lidl?