supermarket blues

it’s cold over here by the quiches
i pull my shawl tighter
around my shoulders and
as someone steps just a bit too close.

the bread aisle is full of choices
i’m sure there weren’t
so many types of loaf
when i was young.

in the fish aisle i stop and stare
my mind switches to a frequency
aligned with the hum of the refridgerators
and i lose myself momentarily
in its gentle buzz.

the world outside is loud but it is morning
and the shop hasn’t yet been invaded
by screaming children and toddler tantrums
and life-tired workers at lunch.

“beep” says the machine as i feed it my card and
“beep” as it replies with my receipt

stuff in bag, i schlep
out through the whoosh
of the automatic doors

and back to the world beyond.

the grey

the sky is
the fields are sometimes, too;
it is England, after all

view upon view, an expanse of
dusty hues –
the sorts of colours you might find
locked up in an attic, unused
for years

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There Is Still

the world is hard today
but there is still

there is still a person smiling at a stranger in the street
still the trees of summer wafting in the breeze
still the light of a warm golden evening slanting through the park
still dust motes dancing in its wake
there is still

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A Piece Of Sky

^^^ hit play ^^^

Unless you don’t like Barbra Streisand, in which case go sit in a corner somewhere and only come back when you’ve thought about what you’ve done.

Not loving Streisand is blasphemy, y’all. Streisand is QUEEN. So actually, maybe it’s treason. Or something.

Anyway, this post isn’t actually about music. It’s about skies.

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