Today’s story-poem
last appeared on the blog in 2010; it was inspired (like many of my poems) by a
tale related by a couple with whom I got chatting quite by chance in a pub once, and never saw
again. I'f often head for the same bar after a particularly frustrating day at work. So, no, it isn’t autobiographical,
but I chose to write it in the first person not only for a sense of immediacy but
also because - like many readers if feedback is anything to go by - I could easily
relate to the events described if not (quite) the happy ending.
Who says
shopping is boring?
MEN
SHOPPING
He was
reaching for coffee
on a
supermarket shelf;
The
graceful swing of his body
cut me to
the quick;
One eye refused
to blink, kept
at the
task in hand;
Trying
hard not to think about
his
finger nudging mine;
A tenuous
grasp on the jar,
began to
slip;
My hand
was left no choice,
obliged
to help;
He
thanked me with a grin,
I smiled
back;
When he
started to move on,
I
panicked;
“So you
like decaf?” I blurted
to a
shirt button;
A hint of
hairy chest heaved,
breath
slow and warm;
“I do
indeed,” he grinned again,
made my
cheeks burn...
and I
came up with something
even more
banal;
We
chatted away the whole
length of
the aisle;
Finally,
at preserves, a parting
of the
ways;
Finished
off the shopping
in a
heady daze;
Outside,
he was unloading into
an old
banger;
He waved,
had me blushing
from ear
to ear;
The same
grin, infuriating me
this
time;
Lips
parted, tip of a pink tongue
teasing
my prime;
My mouth
went dry. I barely
recall
that lift home
Years on,
though, I still thrill
to waking
up next to him
[From: The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004]
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