Monday, 3 August 2009


There’s no telling what I may catch along the
Refrigerated aisle at the supermarket as I’m following
A bandy legged man who refills the chilled shelves
With readymade meals. He’s wheezing hard and it’s
Certainly cold enough to transmit all manner of diseases,
And there are enough runny nosed folk crowding
The bargain basement section to promote their popularity,
But I’ve also the sneaky feeling that food poisoning
Is not that far from the fray. The 2 for 1 loss leaders, and
Early closing hours, tend to bring the stingy and the
Singles, marinated in mange, out on a Sunday afternoon
To beat the rush, but everybody’s busted these days so
It’s busier than Christmas. Fat and scornful children
Trill for candy as they’re dragged around the fruit and
Veg section in the middle of their holidays; sitters having
Quit the scene on account of the obscenity and granny’s
Had enough of being dumped with them. The baby with
The teenager is screaming for attention and is rewarded
With a lollipop and the toddler at the checkout howls at
The multi-coloured bags of goodies stacked to snare the
Careless parent. And when I wait in line, and spy ten
Empty tills, seething creeps into my breathing and I
Step from foot to foot with obvious impatience. But
Eventually I’m attended to and am out the shop to
Trace the track back home where the wife waits to be
Fertilized again, and I remember why I left the
House in the first place, and turn around to waste more
Time inside the only open refuge left in town.

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