Friday Poem: The Retail Apocalypse by Aimee Bell

Aimee Bell

The Retail Apocalypse: A Prose Poem

after Luke Kennard

I wake to find my fridge humming a suspicious tune—something between a lullaby and a warning siren. The milk has curdled into cryptic symbols, and the Percy Pigs have vanished, leaving behind only a sticky note that reads, “Gone phishing.”

At Harrods, the mannequins have started whispering secrets to each other. One claims to have seen a hacker in the lingerie section, disguised as a Wi-Fi router. Customers queue, oblivious, their contactless cards now just shiny rectangles of disappointment.

M&S staff, donned in armour made of receipt paper, recount tales of the Great Ransomware Siege. They speak of the day the tills rebelled, spewing out haikus instead of change:

Bananas are gone.

Colin the Caterpillar

Hides in cyberspace.

The Co-op, not to be outdone, has introduced a new game: “Guess the Price.” With systems down, every item is a mystery box, and every checkout a roulette wheel.

Meanwhile, the hackers—young, audacious, and possibly allergic to sunlight—celebrate their victories in dimly lit basements, sipping on stolen data and toasting to chaos.

Back home, I attempt to order groceries online. The website greets me with a riddle: “What has keys but can’t open locks?” I type “keyboard,” and the screen flashes, “Access Denied.”

I sigh, pick up a pen, and write a letter to the universe:

“Dear Cyber Gods,

If you’re reading this, please return our Percy Pigs. The nation is hungry, and the children are restless.”