A$da

[Jerrybaldy]

On the walk home from ASDA
There was no poetry.
No metaphor for the plastic bag
Which kept swapping hands.
No poetry
At all.
Sure the puddles looked
Pretty black.
And the tarmac did shine an orange
Street light glow.
Wet pavements may have instilled a hopelessness
That may have stirred something
Inside my memory
But poetry.
No.
I could only have heard my footsteps
If my footsteps made a sound.
I looked mysterious in my tribly.
People passing would think
That bloke looks mysterious.
I think it's the trilby.
A train is passing nearby.
People in warmth
Seeing their own reflection in Windows
Passing alien lands.
Metallic tracks and whistles, diesel smut
Clicking, changing tracks
But no poetry
No.
Walking home from ASDA.

[Delta40]

Where's the like button on this damn page!

[Haunted]

Had to look up ASDA, thought it might be a British version of AA :cheers2:

Descriptive of how I feel about these trips as well. Poetry in "no poetry".

[AuntShecky]

You'd be surprised at the odd places where poetry lurks -- in wet pavement, in a trilby hat, even in a store, Cf. Allen Ginsberg's "A Supermarket in California."

[DieterM]

Agree with everyone except you, Jerry ;-) Yep, need a Like-button, yes, looked up ASDA, yep, poetry lurks, and nope, there's not no poetry in walking home from ASDA! Very well done, mate!

[tfkmarauder]

Now i know what asda is, and this is also good writing