In the vast, unmapped Land of Ikea, Where a sign to the exit led us on paths Of inventive meander, On slithery trails, like the s-curves Of a python chasing a rat. These might have been the alleys of Tim Buk Tu... With signs that maddeningly brought us back To where we began, A false-front village... There when we started... But second time through had disappeared. Though our third time around, We did see a chair that was there At the start of our march to the sea... To our Dunkirk and hopeful evacuation. But the sign overhead to the exit we followed, Is the one that returned us To this very spot. Evidently, the python Didn't want us to leave.