Shop assistants sideways whisper
Conspiratorially they grin
As visitors peruse displays
Careful lest they might butt in
That was how the high street died
When shops became a suit-yourself
Arrays displays like catalogues
Bookend salons on the shelf
Clienteles became intruders
Bombarded by those worn out deals
Plastic flags enticing shopping bags
Continual sales like old newsreels
Encouragement was further sapped
By the high street in decay
Surrounded by the growing derelicts
Nowhere to park too much to pay
Shopping is a sensual mode
Complex games of interaction
Like asking strangers for a dance
Pursuing mutual satisfaction
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