a poet at the supermarket
A poet at the supermarket
At the supermarket, yes, we have one near Faro. I met a poet.
The mall is nicely built and has two bell towers.
From time to time, they chime to remind us why we are
Here, not sit on a bench in its courtyard looking up to
The sky is seeing mind-blowing cumulus configurations.
The poet I met had a white beard, wore an old black suit,
a tie with red wine spots on, a black beret that whiffed
Of garlic, I think. You could see that it wasn’t really there.
His eyes scanning the ground, he bent down, picking up.
Half-smoked butts of cigarettes. Ok, not so rich
So what? Haven’t you heard of a poor poet before?
They are not all idle sons of the rich, and with a university.
Degrees in literature. A notebook in the side pocket and
Two pencils in his breast pocket; so he was a poet, ok.
Copyright © Jan Hansen | Year Posted 2025
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