IT’S SIMPLE, SIMON
Simple Simon met the pieman,
In the superstore.
He asked how much, the pieman said,
“Two pounds twenty-four.”
“They used to be a penny,”
Simon said with indignation.
The pieman said, “Since this was written,
They’ve been subject to inflation.”
Simon said, “I’m stoney broke,
Times are very hard.
I haven’t any cash left
And I’ve maxed my credit card.”
“I’m sorry,” said the pieman.
“That’s a very sorry tale.
Why don’t you go outside and put
Your Rolls Royce up for sale?”
LITTLE BO PEEP
Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep
And doesn’t know where to find them.
Leave them alone and they’ll come home,
Bringing their tails behind them
But, after a week, they hadn’t returned
So she notified the police,
Who promised to do their very best
To recover every fleece.
Every officer was deployed
To ensure the sheep were recovered
And after an extensive search,
Their whereabouts was discovered.
But it wasn’t the happy ending
Bo Peep was hoping for.
They were found in the freezer section
Or the local superstore.
I always considered you littered my home,
Small knickknacks adorning overcrowded shelves.
The marble statues you bought from lovely Rome,
I leave them there, a memory of ourselves.
And in gay Paris, you just went mad with joy
Those miniatures saucers, jugs and a vase,
Insisting each was her special lovely toy,
Dainty trivialities, there's no more space.
But without Limoges, can one live a true life?
She packed them carefully thus to take back home.
Porcelain I had to pay for my dear wife,
How tired I was, each elegant shop to roam.
Such charms, rings, bracelets, miniature houses
Lured by magnetic charms, earrings and pendants,
From Upim*, Milan she bought tens of blouses
At Lafayette, I waited in attendance.
She's left me with all these little ornaments
Beautiful up to a point I must admit;
Shall I cherish them for what each represents?
Give to charity or leave them in my writ?
NB Upim is a superstore in Italy.
Whither the true gentleman who holds the door open for a lady
Whither the noble scout, escorting an elderly matron 'cross the street
Whither the friendly officer who greets me as I pass him on his beat
Whither the shopkeeper who knows my name, who seeks my welfare
Whither chivalry? Where has it fled?
Where are the gallant knights in shining armor today?
The gentleman? --passed on, bidding farewell to a world where he has no place
The noble scout? --become timid and weak, emasculated by equality's
relentless drumbeat
The friendly officer? --grown mean and wary, cowed by violent lawlessness
The shopkeeper? --relic of an age that is no more, replaced by a faceless
superstore
Chivalry? --buried in the annals of history
beside gallant knights in shining armor
languishing in cobweb-covered attics
rusted helmets shuttered forever
I Am A Waiter
“I am a waiter,” the man said to me,
“ I wait in a restaurant serving luncheon and tea.”
“I am a waiter,” I said with a sigh,
“Where do you wait?” he asked in reply.
“I wait at the bus stop and wait for a train,
I wait in the surgery and wait for a plane.
I wait in the sunshine and wait in the rain
And on a day with nothing to do,
I go in to town and wait in a queue.
Then at the Superstore I never can win,
The next queue is quicker than the queue I am in.
I wait in for hours as instructed before
A van load of deliveries come to my door.”
“A waiter in your restaurant?" I asked, "That would suit me.”
“Yes,” said the man, “Now, just let me see,
It’s thirty minutes for luncheon and fifteen for tea.”
The Sardine
(How the best laid plans
can sometimes go wrong)
The Sardine is an unusual fish,
It spends all its life in a tin
On top of a Superstore shelf
So other fishes cannot get in.
But their plan was not so ingenious
As they sooner or later found out
They left the opener on the outside
Now the Sardines cannot climb out.
01/16/18
The Frozen Turkey Incident
(Absolutely True Story)
One day whilst shopping in a Superstore
I saw a man bending over his basket on the floor.
Then a child took a frozen turkey from the freezer trough
Which, being too heavy for him, as he held it aloft,
Let it slip from his grasp, striking the man on his crown,
Who, from the blow, fell to the ground.
As he lay, stunned with surprise and very sore
The child fled and left the turkey on the floor.
A store worker then came along and was most perplexed
To see a frozen turkey and a man most vexed.
And the man, not having seen the turkey fall,
Had no idea what had caused his fall.
Then his wife came and there she found
Her husband and the turkey on the ground………..
At which point I thought I ought to explain what had happened and stayed until he had recovered. The couple left with the turkey and, presumably, he ate it later.
Barry Stebbings
29/07/2016
King of beggars set a target for his men a stager
You must spend 100 dollars in the Spree market I do wager
they gained momentum
To the last dime, chum
And bought in a superstore a large economizer
ooo
llllllllllllllllllllll
Who has claimed
the highest
perch as I lurch
into the supermarket
for more inventory
to tell my story.
Sea birds roosting
on the superstore roof,
or cruising its parking
lot: it's what they've
got, and here's the proof.
It's not their fault
they're far from salt.
We're to blame.
Needed help walking
Was in a superstore
Sister spotted a buggie
I looked and said. Noooooo
But she insisted
Because of the pain
Well, i did, guess what
Will never do so again
Just a front and reverse
Oh i forgot, plus a horn
She wrote out a big L
Wishing i hadn't been born
So started it up
Just missed some shopping
Left on the floor
Silly sod i said muttering
Was going great guns
Had many a smile
From the old dears
Pity showing a mile
Some started to chat
I laughed at their clout
Had many a life story
As i buggied about
Would i do it again
No blinking way
Put up with the pain
On my feet I will stay.
Why are the sea gulls shopping here, if not
for "White Stag, "No Boundaries." or "Faded Glory?"
Is there some other story? Coffee, Tea or You,
or just practicing beach and gray-sky calls
over concrete, carts, and Handicapped Blue?
This turf is for blackbirds of the piercing cry, haughty
strut and beady stare. It's not for you to straddle
halogen in your evening wear of dove-gray, black
tie in this car-lot of no swells, no breakers.
What lures you displaced gracefuls-- calls you
from rides on a rogue wind, pushing lace-topped
tides to stock minnow meals in pellucid sloughs?
You've paid your dues, and dour land birds
are the parking lot denizens. Surely you harbor
a peculiar appetite for hors d'oeuvres that do not
swim or paddle, though you buzz pedestrians
on stony reaches as when dive-bombing
the deep, or cruising the beaches.
For whatever draws you to the superstore,
super birds, I pray you reap Neptune's
pardon as you vie for the rail over the holy grail
of the Wal-Mart sign, where no whitefish,
black fish, shrimp or snail, no fiddler crab
scuttles for safety. And may our God absolve
us our sins of the past-- our ever advancing
invasion of concrete, steel, and glass.
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