Christmas Shopping

They do not open by themselves,
The doors that dance with cut-out elves,
And twinkle-tinsel stripes the stairs
Of supermarkets white as wares.

The shambling shoppers shape the throng,
A slug that tugs its rear along,
And all their stories ring the roof
With corrals of carols and half a woof.

The stores are swept with children's knees
Whose fathers answer all the pleas
With offers to suspend the farce
And fucking skelp their fucking arse.

A wizened woman hides her hoard
Of rich Digestives, cheap cardboard;
A shopping trolley hauls the hag
Who pays with pennies from her bag.

And all the hollered howls for help,
Tobacco-stains of screech and yelp,
A desperate smile, a desperate stare,
I do not care, I do not care.

Thomas Clark