From my chap book, "Not So Serious"
‘Tradition demands respect for age.’
Proclaimed some ancient Chinese sage.
Ah, that is such a noble thought,
But wise old Chow he really ought
To walk the isles of a supermart,
Stand behind old granny’s cart,
Left mid-aisle, perhaps forgot.
Limp, lump, wrinkle, lowly bent,
God only knows what’s her intent.
She, oh so slowly, moves about,
No particular thought or route.
Oblivious, she, this ancient dame,
To all but her arthritic pain.
But be thou merciful, be kind
When standing in the checkout line.
She’ll goose you with her shopping cart,
Perhaps let loose a trembling fart;
Then once she’s standing at the till,
She’ll fish a coupon, argue the bill.
Then comes one’s truest peeve of all,
Poor clerk has made call after call;
Out comes the hoary, leather purse,
A waiting shopper’s foulest curse.
She shuffles, mixes, dips, dips, dips,
A whiteness on her withered lips.
Minutes go by, seeming like weeks;
At last she grins, cackling, speaks.
“Oh, dear, my money’s out in the car.
Please wait, I’ll run, it isn’t far.”