Bye Bye Habitat
A conjuror, a rabbit, hat,
A puff of smoke, a wand:
And the magic land of Habitat
Is in the Great Beyond:
No more off-red glasses (six),
For Habitat’s run out of tricks.
No more dinner-party mats,
No more off-white china,
No more sofas, no more slats,
Both retro and ‘designer’:
Eighties buffs, this is a hard day –
With chicken bricks, the sound of Sade
Consigned to High Street history,
The past gone to the dogs,
Along with all the mystery
Of outsize catalogues:
All those uplights, made of steel!
Fortune turns its usual wheel.
Rectangular, each pinewood chair,
And all things clean and neat:
The metro-phoney dinnerware
That smacked of sub-élite
Has vanished like the fickle Fates:
Like fans who dreamed of Dire Straits.
