Best Supermarket Poems
Had she looked back at me
Even for just a second ...
Our encounter might have been the stuff of tabloid frenzy.
But she left quickly a coffee in one hand,
A shopping bag in the other,
And I waited for my turn next in line.
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.”
Shopping today was a right pain
Stopping in aisles, searching again
Trying to guide useless trollies
Buying stuff like chips and lollies
Strained up high to the topmost shelf
Drained all my strength, frazzled myself
Standing in line to pay the bill
Landing back home, ready to kill.
Supermarket celebration
shoppers are cytoplasm searching
for cellulose, muscle, photosynthesis.
Oils, petrochemical and vegetable
love: faith and trust
for instance, the Food and Drug Administration.
In America, the custom is
to avoid meeting the other shoppers' eyes. We graze
like cows or wander as zombies to the oldies played over the aisles.
I've always liked it here.
Cornucopia, yes. Also
a place to be alone and depressed, or cool off.
Water and bone
and the known ingredients. Neurons
for remembering, calculating, touching stuff.
I have a favorite bagger
who has the smile of a lover,
wouldn't rather be elsewhere.
Like glamour stars in bikinis
(but unlike tomatoes and bananas)
cashiers and clerks are admired from afar.
Joe says What's not to like? Ice cream, yogurt,
profit, tofu.
To eat your fill is a blasphemy against God.
Supermarket Sweep
I arrive in the car park it’s full of cars
Battered and bruised and covered in scars
I drive up and down seeking a place
To leave my old banger while I enter the race!
I approach the doors - a trolley I need
Don’t forget parsley and sesame seed
Down the first aisle fresh lettuce I see,
Feeling for firmness, that’ll do me.
I turn the first corner, the trolley won’t come
A push in the back and a bruise on the bum!
Now this trolley’s fighting, it’s lost a wheel
Screeching and scraping an occasional squeal.
Pasta and pizza must not forget
And top up on brown sauce, I need some I bet.
As the trolley gets full, the fight just gets harder
But it will be worth it to top up the larder!
I pass the meat counter, a chicken I see
But I need one larger - that won’t even do me
Don’t forget stuffing it won’t be the same
And I really don’t like a brand with no name!
It’s nearly over, just beer and white wine
The latter for Mrs., the former is mine.
Now at the tills, the queue is quite short
Unload it again to pay for what’s bought
“Need help with packing?” I hear her say,
Not with the packing - I need help to pay!
I hear girlish laughter beyond the bagged onions.
Imagine her swimming naked among green ripples.
Her white arms are lily stems, hips as sleek as an otter
flow in a neon moonlight.
A sound system promotes discount cookies.
Visions of idealized females fill the dairy product section.
A courtly love of grapes spreads to the potatoes.
In the toy aisle, Avalon, Camelot, and Tintagel
appear in plastic miniature together with rainbow painted ponies.
Between the crisp covers of Guns & Ammo and Cosmo,
Annales Cambriae, Historia Brittornum,
and the writings of Gildas shimmer in periodic reality.
I should turn the old legends off, but the Kimble audio
keeps me walking with Malory and Tennyson.
In toiletries and cosmetics, I find her.
A teenager shyly laughing as she texts a boy.
My imagination reaches for the forbidden,
a fruit that was fresh this morning –
a thousand years ago.
I hear girlish laughter beyond the bagged onions.
Imagine her swimming naked among green ripples.
Her white arms are lily stems, hips as sleek as an otter
flow in a neon moonlight.
A sound system promotes discount cookies.
Visions of idealized females fill the dairy product section.
A courtly love of grapes spreads to the potatoes.
In the toy aisle, Avalon, Camelot, and Tintagel
appear in plastic miniature together with rainbow painted ponies.
Between the crisp covers of Guns & Ammo and Cosmo,
Annales Cambriae, Historia Brittornum,
and the writings of Gildas shimmer in periodic reality.
I should turn the old legends off, but the Kimble audio
keeps me walking with Malory and Tennyson.
In toiletries and cosmetics, I find her.
A teenager shyly laughing as she texts a boy.
My imagination reaches for the forbidden,
a fruit that was fresh this morning –
a thousand years ago.
SUPERMARKET DAZE
Gross overweight reflections
gleam off stainless steal
bins, filled with frozen TV dinners.
Obese mothers Jam
peppermint suckers down
children’s tearful mouths
-temporary peace.
Hamburger helper, pepsi-lite
National Inquirer , Rovers dog food
-frantic search for penny full bargains.
Torn pantyhose
wheel aisle after aisle.
mountains of pot pies, ice cream, potato chips, red chips, blue chips
freeido chips
Must hurry.
Get more.
Get more of those treats
need more meat .
Shopping daze fever
cart wheel out the street.
No matter where I wander
Home is the other way.
Whoever pushes me
Always has a lot to say.
I am just a trolley, no brain, to resist
So why is it that I act as though !?!!
As I have been drinking.
Card around my handle says
Oil me please, for I have sinned.
Last trip out hit the litter bin.
03/03/2013
Read About this Poem
No one to hold, leave home I had been told
A parent teen who lives in Bordesley Green
It was so cold only sixteen years old
No nicotine, no partner to be seen.
And Social Service, made me quiet nervous
They served me gruel for lunch with arsenic punch
An arrogant crevice with no justice
They sit with evil stench in selfish trench.
Purse in pocket at the supermarket
With a prayer to above in search of love
Find a packet of hope for my basket
My faith soon leaves of dreams, a soul lost dove.
I am not free to be what I may be
Community, prejudged, excluded me.
Sitting there watching them
they had no idea
they were such an inspiration
so comfortable with eachother.
He, at least 85
she, about the same.
From my car I could see
the way he worried about her
as he pulled his car up to the door
so she wouldn't get wet.
He tenderly watched
while she tucked her hair
under her clear rain bonnet.
The rain was barely a trickle
but it was a cold rain
and he wouldn't have her
catching a chill.
She waited
just inside the door
while he parked the car
a sky blue 1976 Bonneville.
They probably bought it
brand new.
His steps were slow
and purposeful.
I could tell he hurt
but was trying to still
be the ''protector''
of his beautiful bride.
They walked into the store
arm in arm
while I sat for a few more minutes
alone in my car
listening to the whish-whish
of my wipers.
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!
She was next in line and was in a real hurry
And was about to whine as she had to scurry
It was a big day and a lot needed to be done
She had to get on her way, she had to run
Then looking ahead and seeing the lady's face
As the cashier said you're a bit short today Grace
And as Grace dug looking for just ten more cent
In being so smug this woman would soon resent
When suddenly from behind a man stepped forward
Miss, if you don't mind ten cents is what I think I heard
Giving it to the cashier and then getting back in line
Now finally she was so near and all would be fine
But instead she turned and motioned him ahead
Something inside yearned as the voice in her head
So simple yet so kind it was something she had missed
Maybe again she could find at least she had wished
Will it be crackers or detergent?
A brick of cheese or some creamy mayonaise
Cash or check
Right or Left?
Stop or go reflecting on god's ranch dressing
The windshield wipers screech to a halt
Bifocals clouded, I reach for my wallet
No lettuce in there.
I guess the crystal light
Ran away with my low fat heart
We’re away from our home for a wedding
So we drove to explore a new town.
Found a cool-looking shop
And decided to stop
But, while strolling the aisles up and down…
We heard music and noticed a singer
Belting tunes with a mic in his hand.
Shoppers didn’t take heed
But we loved it, for we’d
Only known songs in stores that were canned.
We stood rapt ‘til he wrapped his performance
And we thanked him for making our day.
Guess you just never know
When some talent will show
To bring smiles in a never-seen way.