Supermarket poems.

These are some poems I have jotted down in spare hours at work, when nobody comes by the fishmonger's stand and time grinds down to cruising speed. They are not very good, but they capture a certain kind of feeling that I haven't felt anywhere else.

EGGS AT HALF PRICE

Supermarket evening

her husband died two days ago

he didn't make it to see

eggs at half price.

PINEAPPLES!

Swimming in liquid sunlight

perfectly cut sections of yellow

will be in a birthday cake for six

somewhere forever in your seven-years-old.

Find them here, unassuming,

in a vast temple of industrial achievement.

JOKING

A little Laughter here and there

dulls the Burden of the gare:

Twenty years Might pass today

if you'd Keep all Gloom at Bay.

Do not mourn the Time you've spent

earning Coin to Pay the Rent.

Do not think of what you've got;

calendars tied like a knot,

the hours, the Punch Card and the rot.

WANDERING

'Where were you?'

old woman says, teeth missing.

'Excuse me, madam',

'I was —standing there—

somewhere else'

THE STUFF I THINK ABOUT WHEN WORKING ON YOUR FISH

What your eyes have seen!

The bottom of the sea, the afternoons

of sunlight through the quiet water,

the little fishies you ate and

the underwater forests of your youth

somewhere in that world beyond the shore;

the fishing boat with its nets,

the white deck and a box

and now you see me, 

as I pluck your eyes out because

the customer does not want

to face your accusing sight.

NO FURTHER

Poetry ends

at the moment they chastise you

for being two minutes late to work one morning.

A RHYME

All things end that have begun

from the tulips to the sun,

to the fond hopes of my youth.

It was neither bright nor smooth

and had not glory or romance,

but like a ragged, pointless dance

I tried to join and then fell down.

With no great charms of my own,

I marched to battle unprepared.

Let them go, those days, despaired!

Let us bury those chains of lead,

forget the tender things I said,

and toast to love, for love is dead.

Let me try my hand again at living,

you, both, all, forgetting and forgiving,

and living not of hope, but bread.

BUGS

If I were a bug

and you were a bug

what would it bug me to know?

Nothing!

But, alas, we are both humans.

AFTER A FIGHT

Had troubles yesterday

talked them out today, shook hands.

Like the number of last year's leaves

our anger — forgotten, never known.

WAR

There's war everywhere

but to save the world I can only try and count

exact weights when selling people fish.

A RECIPE

The past is full of unknown faces who inspired

a certain gesture of the hand, or a fear.

Who knows if maybe my recipes

will become a memory for your grandchildren.

NASTY OLD LADIES

Your soul, too, shrinks as you grow old.

All this time you've had to learn

and all you improved at

was petiness.