America's Supermarket
Carry your carts like crutches through the store
And buy your bread at the pastry section
And buy your wine—find them two down, aisle four.
To save the earth and have a little fun
Just buy the stuff. What good is truth without
Imparting some well-being on conscience?
There is no way to hide the bloody grout
In aisle one-hundred one, but perfect sense
It makes to sell the peace those weapons bring.
So sing, your soul will rest in these white aisles.
So tell your friends about this wondrous thing,
Just, please don’t tell them of the bloody tiles!
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
