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In Woolies

A small boy cries, bird calling into the air.
I’m heart helped by his flower delicate face,
bamboo smooth then raw as meat,
his emotions entirely there.

Mums are preoccupied, abundance is a list.
Brows creased, they don’t look up,
their beauty worry worn.

I like the Muzak, whistle along,
wide eyed as a canary.
One aisle is traffic jammed.
and a little old man
waits like a garden gnome.
There should be dancing, the music's jaunty,
but no, only muted ‘excuse me’s’
as trolleys clash.

Done, my machine says
“Thank you for shopping at....”
and slots out cash.
The plastic bags just hold.
The doe eyed shop assistant,
graceful as a minaret
and watchful for thievery:
smiles a goodbye.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
Note: Woolies, slang for Woolworths, Australian supermarket chain.
Editing stage: 

Comments

I shop at Woolies every now and then loved the poem, I am really tired its so damn hot here tonight im melting going to bed ...

will come back tomorrow and make sure I didnt miss anything

love JC x

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

of that shop assistant!

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