Put That Polyester Down!
by Judith Johnson

A colleague waves a silk scarf,
"Value Village" she announces, with a laugh,
It is OK to admit it, if you pronounce Village to rhyme with fromage.
Since the Norman conquest, French indicates class,
a little slumming is permissible,
simply shopping in a thrift store is not done.

As I select sheets and comforters,
I am set upon by a group of Brits,
making it OK for themselves to shop here,
they take up a lot of space;
Discussing how to be sure it is real sheepskin, real silk,
Announcing that they are only shopping for stuff for the camper,
Whining about the high price you pay for natural fibres at Value Village.

I want to tell them: at the Salvation Army you pay with loss of dignity,
they assume you are a bum,
here you pay cash to keep a little status,
so get out of my face;
I am paying too much to watch you condescend to the entire store,
as if you were tourists from another reality,
denying any real need to buy second hand,
only here because it is hip.

My life does not exist for your aggrandizement.

They make a joke of looking for a velvet painting of Elvis,
Find a painted black velvet kangaroo cushion cover,
"Not Elvis though, is it?"
"They must be all sold out."
"This is Prince George."

I am tempted to hang it on my working class tacky living room wall,
I’m into defiance.

I move to the clothes, and a loud musical voice goes off in my head,
to the bouncy tune of "tie that kangaroo down."

"Put that polyester down,
Put that polyester down, girl,
Put that polyester down!"

I ignore it,
start fingering the lurex.