Flatpack: a poem about IKEA
Here are visions of the domestic:
Of what home should be,
Or maybe just what home could be,
If home were not awash with debris
Of bills and receipts,
Stained mugs, a hoover,
Recycling yet to be taken out,
A divorced shoe.
Every item in this store is known.
If you pick up a glass or towel
Or bowl, then you have probably held it
Before, one of its many iterations.
Make sure to keep and store
And hoard and hoard some more.
This is a cabinet to hold your nice things,
Here is a box to put them in under the bed or sofa,
Somewhere unseen but kept, just in case.
Here is a room: this too can be yours,
Here is an aspiration: to look like
All these other homes, these other houses
The insides of which you have not seen
And will never see (save on the
showroom floor) endlessly
Repeating throughout the land.