Chilling words at the checkout . . .

You say to me: ‘No worries,’ Yet I was not concerned, When I settled at the checkout And had my change returned. You say to me: ‘No worries,’ But that just makes me wonder, Is there something untoward? Some threat we might be under? Anything alarming? Some dark, unspoken dread? If that’s true, don’t bandy words, Come right out and say it instead. Some secret hidden danger Known only to the staff Of imminent catastrophe And grisly aftermath? Perhaps you think I’m the nervous sort; I assure you that’s not the case. Do my hands betray

a trembling? Does this look like a worried face? I’ve heard that phrase Down Under, I believe it’s in constant use. But you’re clearly not Australian, Or you would’ve called me Bruce. Maybe you think that I think

I’m being a terrible nuisance, Pitching up here with my purchases, Requiring of your assistance. An ordeal to be overcome, An onerous undertaking. Yet you bravely ignore such irksomeness With the effort that you’re making. You say: ‘Don’t want no trouble, mate,’ But I’m not sure what you mean, ’Cos that’s a double negative And they really stir my spleen. It seems these burly gentlemen Are bringing an end to my stay. I’ll take my custom elsewhere, then. Those prawns are off, by the way.