Venus in Primark

Everything is so beautiful.
Venus has never seen
anything like it

Rows and rows of crumpled silks,
woolen dresses,
velvet heels.

She walks up aisles
like someone getting married.
Mothers hold up jumpers over leggings.

Teenagers twirl,
like vinyl records.
A queue of people

snakes a line
around the tills.
In a changing room

like the back of a wardrobe
Venus holds a dress
against her body

touches it’s stitching
it’s small label,
wonders who made it.