COMMISSIONS (back to list)

More Reasons To Shop At Morrissey’s

What might Morrissey stock in his Camden pop-up shop?

Sorrow’s native son has come back to Camden
Bearing his wares for the tremulous of heart
Retail therapy for whatever ails your soul
At Mr Morrissey’s mournful minimart

The Mozziah is here to deliver the goods
A cornucopia of holy merchandise
Slate grey England’s memento mori
Maudlin Street sacred relics at a price

Unhappy birthday cards, glamorous glue
Ouija boards 2 for 1 for the deceased
Everlasting light bulbs that never go out
Ballet skirts for pirouetting parish priests

Yesterday’s discontinued stock in the bargain bin
Johnnie Ray hearing aids, Jack Duckworth specs
Wilted gladioli, beads ‘n blouses
The Oxfam cardigans of celibate sex

Sweet and tender hooligan hand in boxing gloves
A box of contradictions labelled macho camp
A Meat is Murder veggie Kray cookbook stew
Of Mexican heat and Mancunian damp

Jars of Shelagh Delaney’s tasty honey
A blush of Betjeman’s bananas going cheap
Packets of Born to be Oscar Wilde oats
A Morrissey Value supermarket sweep

Bottled tears from the well of loneliness
Aching melancholy by the pound
Trolley-loads of deadpan pitiless wit
Doomed romance to be sown on stony ground

Customer service can be quite contrary
Cantankerous barbs for any crashing bore
Shoplifters of the world be contrite, hand it over
This is Mozza’s inconvenience store

In the maladjusted misfitting room
You can drop your trousers to Her Royal Highness
While charming men without a stitch to wear
Try on some criminally vulgar shyness

Under the counter - provocative views
A second-hand, shop-soiled union jack
Antique grudges and dog whistle soundbites
Sold in brown paper bags round the back

Self-assembly crosses for self-martyrdom
Stacks of unrequited love left on the shelf
Sticks of seaside rock run through with gallows humour
Enough rope for a DJ to hang himself

Punctured bicycles for desolate hillside rides
Ready to wear flamboyant despair
Rubber rings to rescue hope on the Grasmere
A truly disappointing game of solitaire

An Alsatian cousin in the window
A New York Dolls-house with model pantry boys
Reams of Mr Shankly’s awful poetry
Hatfuls of hollow laughter for killjoys

Sadly in the midst of life I am in debt
Bailiffs with bad breath want the butter on my bread
Yes I’m a poor customer, so sorry Moz
The only thing I’ll spend is the day in bed

copyright elvis mcgonagall, 2017
for bbc radio 4’s the world tonight