Reading the HomeCare Catalogue

lint shaver homecare

Reading the HomeCare catalogue was reliably
therapeutic; as a kid I read it like a born-again
reads Watchtower Magazine. It was a utopia
you could inhabit for six easy payments
of $29.95 per week. Every month
I waited for it to turn up in its humid plastic
sheath on our tiled terracotta doorstep
so I could seize it, free it, and pore my way across
its waxy pages as if reading a wordless book
translated into Braille. Egg timers, oven mitts,
bread boxes, tea towels, frypans – a cornucopia
of household inanity. I read it while lifting spoonfuls
of microwaved Weet-Bix to my lips, mouthing mantras:
Effortless slicing, chopping, grating and shredding;
The deep ridges allow heat to circulate. Dishwasher safe.
So comfortable you’ll forget you’re wearing it!
Nursery rhymes describing a lukewarm universe
where nothing ever catches fire. I meditated
on their psalms, then grew up to be a copywriter –
a prophet urging sinners not to repent, but to buy.
But in the same way bullshit makes great fertiliser,
it taught me a lot about concision and how to speak
to an audience with the attention span of a blowfly.
These days over breakfast (boiled eggs on sourdough)
I try to stick to literature. Its world is not as shiny
as that of retail marketing. But admission is free.

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3 thoughts on “Reading the HomeCare Catalogue

  1. ‘The confessions of a retail copywriter’ + ‘Someone please give me some money’ = the story of my life!
    Love your work, as always. x

    Like

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