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Poem

There’s a lot that I will do,
Take my hand and I’ll go with you.
But don’t you ask, or even implore,
 For me to go to, a grocery store.
On Saturday
On Saturday

Well grab a cart and go right in,
It’s the grocery game, I hope you win.

Little kids with runny nose,
Following mother were ever she goes.
Playing baseball with the apple and pears,
Mothers with the lettuce, 
So she doesn’t care.

Now there’s the lady who just has to read,
Everything she buys and everything she sees.
Standing there like she owns the store,
Right in front of what you came for.

But people aren’t the only strain,
There’s the shopping cart that just can’t be tamed.
It goes left, when you want to go right,
Or squeaks so much you want to hide from sight. 

Now aisle number one is a thing of the past,
But aisle number two is another task.

You squeeze the bread to see if it’s fresh,
You rip the bag and leave the bread a mess.
You decide to hide it under the rest,
Just to find others have made the fresh bread test.

The lady at the free sample stand,
Is passing out hot dogs, which come from a can.
She smiles and hands you one on a toothpick,
But, doesn’t tell you where to go, when you get sick.

The Cereal aisle is really neat,
There’s some made of corn and some made of wheat.
You discover something when you pick up the box,
To buy just one you have to own Fort Knox.

Don’t loose your cool, 
You’re almost through.
The finish line is right a head of you.

You get in to the short, short line, 
You think it will take a short, short time.
The clerk is new, and the bagboy is gone,
Your short, short line, takes long, long, long!

Well you get to the door,
You win, you bet.
You get to the car
What did you forget?

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