Men Shopping

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

[Update, August 22nd 2020]: A further, revised version of the poem below appears on the blog for August 2020. I have only changed the content slightly, but the form in which it I have opted to present it is altogether different. You may like to compare and (hopefully) approve my changes. While I never publish comments, readers can send an email any time to rogertab@aol.com [UK] with 'Poetry' in the subject field; any spam or trolling is always ignored and instantly deleted.

Today’s story-poem first 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. although I'd 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 same 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

Copyright R. N. Taber 2005; 2017

[Note: Slightly revised from the original poem as it appears in The Third Eye by R. N. Taber, Assembly Books, 2004 ]