Poking a bit of fun at my own countrymen.
There are a few things that are known far and wide as traditionally Swedish; Ingmar Bergman, ABBA, the Nobel Prize and of course IKEA. The furniture giant, founded by a man who supplied the people with affordable furniture, as long as you took the time to put it together yourself, is a bit of an institution even in its homeland.
Certainly, what would become of all the university students and youngsters, who need to furnish their first apartments on a tight budget if it were not for IKEA? How could a normal family be able to furnish their home with warm colors and plenty of decorative items to elevate their status in their neighborhood, if not for IKEA? What would the divorcee, who now needs his or her own place to stay again, do, if there was not IKEA to purchase those pieces of furniture which were left behind with their estranged partner?
Yet there is also peril associated with a trip to this fabled place.
A followup to my IKEA poem, also based roughly on my own experiences.
A poem inspired by my own recent venture to this place, this…near institution for those who need cheap furnishings in their life.
One of the tasks set to me while I worked full time for the postal service was to deliver IKEA catalogs every year to those who had no objections to receiving piles of advertisements in their mailbox every week. As I had to drag these rather heavy things around for most of the week one did grow curious about the exact content of their glossy pages. So I did have a peek or two, page after page filled with pictures of rooms that looked almost lived in, furnished with IKEAs best products.