Intimate Encounter On The Way To The Supermarket
Making my way from the fish-bowl street-
In which I happen to live- to the supermarket
To purchase a simple packet of soap-suds
At a bargain price, I was forced off the sidewalk
Onto the street by a barn-door sized woman
Sporting huge pointed tits, I thought,my god any
Minute she's going to whip one out and shoot me down.
I could see the head lines in the local rag
MAN SHOT IN STREET BY A PAIR OF LOADED TITS.
Worse still, this woman with thunder in her face
Says,'I know you, we once met in an air-raid shelter
In 1942 and you tried to make your way with me.'
Lady I said I was never in an air-raid shelter in 1942
I was only nine years old lying under the kitchen stairs
With an immobile affliction! Still,she persisted with the idea
And taking a packet of custard powder from her packages
She doused me down with it and hared off like a startled
Deer. On reaching the supermarket, an elderly woman was
Playing a harmonica with a placard hanging her neck
Which read second-world war orphan trying to make
It to the music-acadamy in London. Okay, I know what
You are thinking, this is pure fiction from a blemished imagination
Belonging to a man trying to transmute shit to gold.
Brothers/sisters of the poetical fraternity this tale is true
I share it with you because you need a few laughs in life.
For a packet of soap-suds worth $2-50 sale price
I was the victim of mistaken identity, assaulted with a packet
Of custard powder, and intimidated by a woman playing
A harmonica for money and refused entry into the supermarket
Unless I cleaned myself up. This was a close encounter of
The most intimate kind, I make mention of it today because
A woman entrenched in heavy tweeds wearing huge prehensile boots
Knocked at my door alongwith another in similiar garb
Asking me if I knew Jehovah, 'your face is very familiar says she
We have met somewhere before' 'So we have I replied, 'it was
In an air-raid shelter in 1942 you tried to make your way with me.'
There's nobody by the name of Jehovah lives here I bellowed after
Them, you are an Atheist who needs help, she shouted, how dare you
I replied, I happen to be a Pantheist with a few years under my belt.
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Being attacked
with custard is very funny, I enjoyed reading the whole poem. I liked the ending. raskin
lancelot...
WOW...where do you come up with this stuff? you write unbeleiveably well! you hold my interest to every last word..."man shot in street by a pair of loaded tits?"
omg you are hysterical!
yikes...im going to go read more
Linda
intimate encounter...
Hi Linda. Thanks your kind remarks'how /where do I come up with the stuff? its usually innocent life experiences
that hold a grain of truth which I proceed to set fire to with a highly imaginative self that produces stuff that
surprises me, for instance, I used to walk a long road home from live pub poetry readings a year or two back. on one
of those walks I stopped to look into a Real Estate window, out comes this big chested woman, beautifully dressed,
garnished in obvious genuine jewelery, she came a little too close for my comfort, and said 'Look, I have seen you
walking the road a number of times, and saw your photo in the press, you are a poet I see, I think you could be
a very interesting person to talk to, maybe we can have a cup of tea together sometime.' She then tells me she is the
owner of the Real Estate Agency, as we were talkin, a hefty shower of rain descended from the heavens and I with this
outrageous imagination thought, my god, I could shelter under her bosoms, and from this particular encounter I voiced
an extraordinary tale at the live poets society, which brought the house down! She did invite me for a meal but made
me her first course! and I was outta there faster than a buck rabbit fleeing an over-crowded warren. What I am trying
to show you is you can make real stuff from whats often unreal, and make people laugh, so from time to time
I swing into this manner and mode of writing ,I write spiritual/philosophic stuff usually, so many 'I's in me I
never know just which one is going to take centre stage, so I am always highly excited by what comes out.
Keep writing Linda
The secret for me is I never try to write or think something up,I just do, sometimes its amplified clean shit
other times a piece of gold..hey hey