Shopping (I.P.)

I’m at the end of my street before it occurs to me; I’ve forgotten why I left the house at all.
Of course by this time the shops are just around the corner.
I may as well continue.

Tempted more by the packaging than by the contents, I enter a shop filled with trendy young things.
I don’t really want this and I don’t really need this.
But I’ll buy it anyhow because I’m bored.

Belligerent children scramble underfoot, loosed from their parents who seem not to care.
Women pushing prams built like small cars are hard to circumnavigate.
A homeless man holds his hands out to me and mumbles something incomprehensible;
Maybe he’s asking me the time?

The cd I have bought is supposed to be their best yet,
“One of the year’s most important releases” says a magazine written by the sorts of people I can’t stand.
But when I put the silver disc in the machine and press play all I hear is nonsense.

I could take it back and exchange it,
But that would mean leaving the house again.

Screw it.