It was one of those stores

That smelled a repulsive smell

It felt opposite of what their banner tried to sell

‘Winner’s Cold Store’

That place looked like

It had lost every battle against inflation

But who cared?

I couldn’t help but notice on my way out of there

The little girl on the table

Hiding the peaking stains of blood

Between her legs

While her spokesman behind the counter

Almost shooed me away from the store

What am I saying?

Maybe I missaw.

Winniefred F. Gbemuotor