Post by FinlandiaWhiteEyes on Feb 21, 2011 20:18:51 GMT -5
Shopping in Birmingham
A weekly Wednesday excursion,
We’re packed like pickles
Pressed until our own juices spurt
Over the designer clothing we once
Picked up here.
Snugly fitted, and those who can,
Cling to the rail, as the mechanical steps
Go down, and then judder to a stop.
Then they shudder down a little more
Just a little more
Until they give up the ghost
And smart business men and
Teenage fashionistas
Are cruelly forced to walk the distance.
A rampaging bull regards many shops,
None of them china.
But, frozen as he is, in stone and time,
He can only watch, furious,
As John from Financial Services
Plays matador to the amusement
Of a small Korean family.
One shop holds an orchard
Where many Apples grow.
One man buys a bushel, I suspect
He’s getting the jump on Christmas.
Either that or he is
An avid fan of Granny Smiths.
In a sunshine yellow store
Small Gods renew creation;
Making a menagerie of wild beasts
Whom they squeeze to hear their voices.
Then they dress them up as Batman
A ballerina and a snowman
To the bemusement of their parents.
Their purchases made,
The bustling crowds wander to the exits.
Except for one man,
In a beaten blue jacket,
Who stands still in the chaos
And stares at the ceiling.
A weekly Wednesday excursion,
We’re packed like pickles
Pressed until our own juices spurt
Over the designer clothing we once
Picked up here.
Snugly fitted, and those who can,
Cling to the rail, as the mechanical steps
Go down, and then judder to a stop.
Then they shudder down a little more
Just a little more
Until they give up the ghost
And smart business men and
Teenage fashionistas
Are cruelly forced to walk the distance.
A rampaging bull regards many shops,
None of them china.
But, frozen as he is, in stone and time,
He can only watch, furious,
As John from Financial Services
Plays matador to the amusement
Of a small Korean family.
One shop holds an orchard
Where many Apples grow.
One man buys a bushel, I suspect
He’s getting the jump on Christmas.
Either that or he is
An avid fan of Granny Smiths.
In a sunshine yellow store
Small Gods renew creation;
Making a menagerie of wild beasts
Whom they squeeze to hear their voices.
Then they dress them up as Batman
A ballerina and a snowman
To the bemusement of their parents.
Their purchases made,
The bustling crowds wander to the exits.
Except for one man,
In a beaten blue jacket,
Who stands still in the chaos
And stares at the ceiling.
I'm also hoping I was getting the meaning from it, not sure though lol.
