Art of Socialist Shopping

Where I grew up,
You entered the store softly;
You ignored the empty shelves
And you waited politely
For the sales ladies to finish chatting.
You didn't approach them closely
But you tried to establish eye contact
And when you did, you apologised
For disturbing them. Then it was time
To let them know what you were after
Which you did using carefully chosen words:
"Perhaps, you might have some..."
That "perhaps" was very important--
It signalled that you recognised that
Not having any of whatever you were after
Was the expected norm, and that if, on the contrary,
They did have some of it somewhere,
Under the counter or in the storage area,
You were prepared to properly appreciate
Your good fortune.

If the gods of socialist commerce
Were kind, one of the sales ladies
Would tear a corner piece
From a sheet of brown packing paper,
Roll it into a cone
And pour into it your bounty
Of sugar, or wheat, or rice,
And you would hold that cone
At the sharp end, to make sure
It wouldn't unroll as you walked home
Very happy.