An Elegy Written In a Shopping Mall

The following poem was written at the request of my wife and it is intended to be ‘gently mocking’ in its style. The reader MUST stroll though it for that purpose alone. A long time ago, when with my mother, I went On a shopping trip in which many hours were spent Unto myself a secret promise I made Never would I, with a woman, through malls and boutiques wade. This promise, fifteen years since, has now been broken For the spirit of Eros was within me awoken So, now, with marital bliss, I treasure the joys of family life And I also shudder at the time I spend shopping with my wife. She bothers NOT about the hands of the clock Which, with their boisterous ticking, do me mock As I bite my fingers and chew my nails While wifey darling shops with a patience that never fails. My practice of ‘walk in, pick up and then walk out’ Is now one of ‘walk in, darling, and let us walk about’ And so, she does – with a slow and steady gait While I gaze at mannequins and ponder my fate Safe and secure, in cosy comfort, hardly disturbed My wallet is NOT in the least bit perturbed For he knows that his services will not be needed Until through PRICE, CHOICE, TRIALS, his mistress has weeded The objects that she might finally desire And yet not necessarily – right then – acquire For further weeding must surely be done If shopping, for Elizabeth dear, is any fun. Always, there lies a BUT on these shopping trips A rationale with which I have yet to come to grips For after careful analysis of textures, patterns and colour schemes Wifey darling holds – lovingly – the object of her dreams BUT – this contrariness to rhyme and reason Is the perpetual refrain to our shopping season For, though the texture may be perfect the colour just right In a tiny spot, the design is not to her delight So, even if an item is picked up – and to the counter taken One must forgive me – if I’m sadly mistaken In thinking that I can now move on – something has been bought For, with a BUT, it might just be placed – back in its original spot. Thus, Elizabethan shopping in all its royal splendour – and courtly grace Can hardly be confined – limited – to a few hours space. It takes more than mere days, weeks and months instead For wifey girl to savour her shopping spread. And, though dear reader, this verse may now come to an end For me, the rest of my life I must hereafter spend With plodding upon my weary way As the curfew tolls the knell of another shopping day.