There I was, standing in the supermarket
gazing at the shelf of baked beans,
their cans in ranks like soldiers,
each label a bright biography,
when a cart trundled past, echoing
a thousand buying tales it had heard,
its wheels wobbling out another shopping story
down aisles of mundane miracles.
Around me stretched a maze of shelves
like chapters in a novel of choices,
a narrative of flavours ready to unfold
in the kitchens of the ordinary.
I picked up a bean can,
metal cool against my palm,
and wondered about the beans within,
trapped in their tiny, tinny universe.
Do they dream of the fields
where sun once kissed their tender pods?
Or are they resigned to their fate
as captives in a world of tomato sauce?
The checkout lanes beckoned,
a trundle of conveyor belts,
on which my beans are swept towards freedom
like refugees seeking the safety of a new life.
Then I left, carrying my bag of stories.
The automatic doors sighed shut behind me and
I loaded my groceries into the back of the car.
The world resumed its mundane plod.
As I drove off I saw, “Save! Budget! Bargain!”
in the rear-view mirror, blazoned over
a cathedral of commerce, where miracles unfold,
and baked beans dream.
I particularly like the tiny, tinny universe. Made me think of old DC comics with The Atom
A simple bean is the pulse of poetry. Beautifully written.
Excellent Alistair, 'Magical thinking' a term I use for that mental state where you're so receptive to all around creativity is high. Some great lines,
'when a cart trundled past, echoing
a thousand buying tales it had heard,
its wheels wobbling out another shopping story
down aisles of mundane miracles.'
all with a veneer of cynicism, which prompts thought.
Thank you!