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The Existential Compost

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18th December 2016

The Week Before Christmas - a poem @ 19:22


Twas the Friday before Christmas, when all through the town
Lots of people were bickering, and wearing a frown
The shops were all packed full of people with no care
Spending their money as if shop soon wont be there.

The checkouts were rammed with queues round the block
While shelf fillers battled with containers of stock.
And those who did err and go out by mistake
Had just nipped out for milk or a juicy red steak.

When down by the town square there arose such a clatter,
I vacated the shop to see what was the matter.
Away through the car park I ran like The Flash,
And peered down the High Street, to witness a clash.

Blue lights ablazen from a passing police car,
Giving lustre of midnight to objects near and far.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a group of drunk teachers, all out on the beer.

With a gaggle of office girls and a brace of workmen,
I knew in a moment it must be before ten.
More vapid and merry, the throng did appear,
Wolf whistles and shouting, I was struck by fear.

"Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough"
"Come 'ed lah, I'll stab ya"
"Fucks ache ya dick 'ed" , out broke a brawl.
I panic and flee, want to run from it all.

As policemen assemble, in riot gear and thick,
When they meet with an obstacle, they clout with their stick.
So down to the nick, with the cursers they flew
With a van full of coppers, and passed out yobbos too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard down the road
The fighting and biting, had spread a la mode.
So I ran back to Waitrose, to rescue my food
Down the aisle came a  pensioner rude.

She was all in her rollers, stockings on feet
Rummaging in the reduced fridge, for a bargain on meat
A bundle of biscuits she had clutched to her chest
And a trolley full of lemons that were just past best.

Her eyes - how they narrowed, her face all a twinkle,
Her cheeks were ablazen, her nose all a wrinkle
Her withered and old lips tight and pursed
As she let rip some swearing and began to curse,

She was crabby and bitter, a miserable old thing
I laughed when I saw her, in spite of  the sting
A clout from her brolly, a smack across the face,
Soon gave me to know I had stepped out of place.

She spoke not a word but went straight to the ham,
And filled up her trolley, with slices of cooked lamb
Then sticking up two fingers shaped like a V,
She scuttled back down the aisle, towards the tea.

She walked past the checkout, to the guard gave a whistle,
And into the bookies, two pounds on Partick Thistle.
But I heard her exclaim, 'ere she walked out of sight,
"Christmas Telly is rubbish, so to all good-night!"
 
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From:fj_warren
Date:18th December 2016 23:47 (UTC)
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Bliss!

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