Capitalistic Conscience

Two men wishing they were boys again

Image by Anthony.

Fuck Freddo - H. R. Sinclair

A Freddo used to cost 15p
that’s those little chocolate frogs
in purple packaging
—quintessentially british—
you’d get ya twenty pence from ma’
run to the corner shop
and get one of those little chocolate frogs
“keep the change” you’d say,
if you wanted to feel extra cool
(feel like an adult)
but you’s was still a kid
excited to have
that little chocolate frog.

That time we’d all go
to the same corner shop
or some corner shop
run by some man
to buy our little chocolate frog
without a care in the world
before we’d learn
who had what
and who had more
before we’d notice
who went where
and where we couldn’t go
and where they could go
before we’d adapt —
buy what we could
and steal what we couldn’t.

A Freddo used to cost 20p
it jumped 5 pence I don’t know when
I hardly noticed
I’d hardly aged 5 years
gained a little more conscious
knew I liked girls and longer films
but still liked that little chocolate frog
and the free-feeling purchase it was
I’d get my 20 pence and go with my mates
and I wouldn’t be able to say
“keep the change” anymore.

A Freddo then cost 25p
that takes two coins
twenty and a ten
I had noticed
enough to know not to say
“keep the change”
no longer did I have
the change to waste
on such a small snack
I was old enough to see all the shelves
and think for myself
and think to myself
that the price has gone up.

And life went on
and I tried and failed to flirt
with those girls I liked
and tried and failed to understand
those longer films
and I’d listen to some lessons
and ignore others
and follow my free will
and give it all up for popularity
and I gained a little more conscious
just enough to know
how pricey those frogs had gotten.

Now those Freddo’s are 35p
thirty-five-pence
you’d buy it with a fifty
a much bigger coin
a hexagon in the pocket
nearly the size of the chocolate frog
and that may not seem like much
but everything else is more
and the air is colder
and the sky is greyer
and mcdonald’s lost its clown and colour
and kids can’t be kids no more
not for long
and those fucking frogs cost so much more.

© H. R. Sinclair 2025

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Image by Arnet Xavier.

Five Cent Candy - Jozef Cain

The cashier is getting shit on more lately. People are on edge because they have to choose between a pack of darts and a loaf of bread. Kids get dinner or a toy. The medium isn't happy no more. It's far left or far right. My friend just wanted a Freddo and now he's having an existential crisis about which damn direction his life is heading.

Where does it stop. This bus was supposed to take us somewhere nice. But nice costs too much now, and Skidrow has no more vacancy. Can't you see? I just want a little respect. I never got to find out what it all means, before life threw a knuckle ball and knocked me hard on my ass on the asphalt.

Chips are two-4-ten. Huh, I remember a tenner buying a king-sized Snickers, a bag of ketchup chips, a bottle of pop, and still had a toonie for the bus. Now five cent candies are ten cents, and I am dazed and confused.

No one goes to the mall anymore. Streets look empty most days, aside from all the people who live on them. I lost the plot before it got thick enough to grasp in my hand.

Do it yourself is all the craze. You want a bag for your groceries? Fuck you, you're the bag: A scumbag. I got thirty cloth bags between my apartment and car. And what’s up with all the clear plastic cups with a paper straw now? Are we being trolled? And all the bridges are burning. And all the. And the. And.

…

I love the way the mountains look on a misty morning. Snow capped and sun kissed. I love the way she looks at him. I love the way the sea hugs the beach. I love the taste of the salt air. And I love you. Pay it forward; inflate that shit.

© Jozef Cain 2025

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