I enter a shop, I haven’t visited before
Slightly hesitant, as not being a new store,
they may have seen my face before.
This is the first time I’ve come through the door.
I wonder, do they give that thought?
It’s a small town after all.
Nothing in particular I’m shopping for.
Well this is billed as a friendly, local ‘General Store’.
Perhaps something will take my eye.
I try and put worry aside.
I enter, try a general ‘hello there’ for the General Store.
This, goes seemingly unheard, or ignored.
Push worry aside once more, why did I not wait
Till the shop was more full?
One man shopping show, spotlight on me now.
Under the Shop keeper’s un smiling eye.
I flunk it, forget my lines, escape outside.
Cursing myself for even trying.
Oh, he is not a poet.
No, not really poetry you see.
He is just, as they say, a loser.
A could have, but didn’t,
One of those.
Now he writes ,
What he , and some consider poetry,
Just to keep us interested, I suppose.
Wallows in it you know.
Sickness, misery, anxiety,
As though failure is a talent of it’s own.
No, it is not poetry,
it’s one never ending groan.
One ‘Happy Never After’ moan.
Sunday evening. I know, last warning.
Monday is approaching.
Last chance to keep or not, this job.
This job I like but the job ,
Anxiety is threatening to rob.
My Boss, I know he has phoned my doctor, the boss’s PA is my friend,
and so not as discrete as perhaps she ought’.
Of course the doctor couldn’t give out personal information but,
these two are ‘friends at the lodge’ and so after a couple of large gratis
shifters my doctor implies I might be a ‘sniffler’ not a ‘grafter’.
So, he is bringing that implication with implications back.
I’m going to persuade him to give me the sack, that’s if there’s no
going back, no reference, but I can live with that.
If I quit, well no benefits back.
No money, no rent, no flat.
So Anxiety has grown and peaked on this Sunday.
Watch out, but head down, look away.
Jobless, homeless ‘madman’.
Coming your way.