In the morning changing light of
Soft and blue florescent bulbs, the
Lines dividing science and fiction
Become unfocused, hidden and faint.
Time displacement, I find, is common
When working alone, opening shift.
The shop becomes a portal to
A greenish sort of Twilight Zone.
What sounds before I set aside as
Background noise I’d normally tune out
Jump out at me from all sides,
I suppose the walls are hungry too.
I guess Cthulhu wants a coffee,
Martians favour cookies most,
Nosforatu needs his pepsi,
Mothra wants a salad, ‘course.
Inter Stella space cadets and
Raving ravens wave as I pass from
deepest darkest crannies and nooks.
Perhaps they’ll stay to taste the menu?
But, of course, seven comes and
With it normal life returns.
Sal from sales buys his salad, whilst
Mothra makes his way back home.