Shelfishness: Shadorma

SHELFISHNESS

Empty shelves
Tug at sleeves, whisper
“Get some more”
“Just in case”
Fearfulness, senselessness, greed
Enough already

Pity The Nation

PITY THE NATION

Devouring its own entrails
For want of better nutrition
Glued to a sofa and a screen
All the bigger all the better
All the better to eat you up

Silicon Valet

SILICON VALET

First they will addict you
Then up and up the price
Believe me this is not
A train you want to ride

No Money Down

Wonderful music. The message however …

(Elvis 1  … Chuck Berry 10)

Dregs

DREGS

And here it is again, the season of good cheer.
Let’s drain it to the dregs of the very last drop.
Thank Christ the damn thing only comes round once a year.
Starts in October then you shop and shop and shop.

Me and the list both completely ticked off. Enough!
Seems not. Start new list to stave off the listlessness.
Back to the jam-packed stores, smiley smiles, piles of stuff.
Did I find what I was looking for? Have a guess.

Which set me off thinking about us. Can’t think why.
It’s not like it’s a common pattern in my life:
a bright display that snares the lonely passer-by;
yet another twist of the same familiar knife.

The fruitless shopping expeditions of my life.
The early sorties involved knights and princesses.
Later, to stay in character, I sought a wife:
twin singing souls in celestial harmonies.

I’d read the books, knew she’d be innocent and fair,
that witchy temptress that can dissolve the façade,
I advanced, heart on sleeve, with optimism to spare,
but my script, it seems, was co-written by de Sade.

Reached for the skies, but then – oh no – look out below!
Sorry, can’t take calls at present. Will call you back.
It’s well known that any fool can lick their elbow.
Irony, was that? Or sarcasm? I’ve lost track.

These loaded aisles, I’ve spent years wandering them all;
being spoilt for choice is the curse of novelty.
She never jingled for me, the belle of the ball;
starving amidst the plenty – a fine cruelty.