The supermarket crowns the mountain like a brilliant cake. Black licks of road carry trucks that bear into its gullet succulent, steaming rainforests, golden toasted plains and chocolate jungles, fresh rivers and all their flicking life. The supermarket smells of honeycomb crushed between the fingers, of lardy pork, of truffles, licorice and lobster. Round and round the circular aisles we whirr on buggies like boiled sweets, reaching and seizing, tearing and flinging. High in the honeyed light of the dome sits many-armed Adephagia, crowned with the oozing skin of a pineapple, her eyes turned upward in a daze of satiation.
Carried on the wind, the corporate hymns are faintly heard in the scattered settlements below. Primitives live down there, worshipping the old gods of river, crop and season. High on the brilliant mountain Adephagia moves her finger and the field is scoured bare, scoops her palm and the river flows into it. We hug our children to us, crooning the slogans that keep them safe.
Gert Loveday's Fun with Books 