The giant

It rears upwards

into the blue sky,

A monstrosity

of reflective glass and

shiny stainless steel

towering over

the ant-sized people

who scurry about

in its imposing shadow.

 

An emotionless giant

it is bereft of a soul,

It feeds on small businesses

corner cafes, fruit and nut shops

independent butcheries, bakeries,

confectionaries and cake shops.

Even book sellers and

small stationers

are swallowed whole

disappearing into the gaping maw

of the corporate giant.

 

It shreds and ingests

taking the sustenance it seeks

spitting out the bones

independence and individuality

creativity and the unique

entrails, unwanted and disgarded.

It stamps on difference

in its pursuit of profits

imperfections and blemishes

an unacceptable blight

on a perfect track record.

 

What remains will finally

emerge as a mirror

reflecting the sameness

uniformity and consistency

it holds so dear.

Providing its market

with the conformity

and rigidness

that has taken over

and turned the world grey.

By Robbie Cheadle

The picture is a chocolate giant that Michael and I made. It has absolutely nothing to do with the poem other than it is a giant [wink!].