2196: Waitrose in Hove

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A pebble-bespectacled trolley bloke
directs his shunted captives from all
corners of that rain-layered car park
on to a rattled corral of alignments –
readied for us bland aisle-swarmers
to tug & direct as we sweep through
those supermarket doors [with lists
of loo rolls & fillets] – A cart man will
serve you in all weathers – whatever
forecasters foretell – with a wry grin
through it all – nearly serene despite
conditions set by gods – his peace in
that confluence of foul manners is a
quiet miracle as he mollifies a brace
of trolleys left to drift – another brief
relationship – of shopper & shopping
[he has heard our excuses & denials]

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