Another charity shop has opened up,
its shelves already whiff with stock,
featuring Atwood’s ‘Alias Grace’,
and the lower-shelved words of Peter James;
his ranking fixed by alphabetic rules,
although Margaret does classier vowels.
Pressed shirts hang, stiff with starch,
whilst dead man shoes no longer dance;
A range of aged prints catch the eye,
Picasso hangs, yours to buy;
Retired golf clubs stand on guard,
their shine worn down, over par;
That jug you gave to your old friend Jane,
she’s re-donated, so you buy it again.
