I am reflective in the neon light .
Alone in the retail park
in the dead of night .
Rainfall , like glistening darts ,
the million ring dance
and the swirl of kalaidoscopes ,
out of focus ,
in the sleeping city ,
in the solitude and dark.

I want to be cold ,
to shiver and freeze .
To drift aimlessly
through vacant parking spaces
between too-neat manicured trees .
Where the consumer dream is driven
by the need to have it all .
And money screams for power
from a plasma screen wall .

Sheets of glass and polished steel .
Give distorted glimpses
and a sterilized feel.
And security is everywhere
on slowly rolling wheels .
The wind blows ghosts
round the street lamp beams .
And the neon blinks
in this world
of invisible screams .

I can hear the crunch of numbers .
Insidious , and waiting ,
like a praying mantis .
Can hear the crack of knuckles ,
as they turn pink pages
in the world financial .
Backhanders keep mouths shut ,
and lids on scandals .

I am reflective ,
in the land of consumer ideals .
Where the megalomaniac attitude
runs a rocky road
on well worn wheels .
Where credit card graffiti
is worshipped as art .
And the interest rate
causes flutters of the heart .
I am alone in the night ,
in the rain ,
in the retail park.