Entry for Poattic-21
Last Grocery List
Stinging sleet falls on my parasol. My long coat hugs
My contours- my frozen fingers button it up thoroughly.
A shiver runs down my spine, nipping into my flesh—
The lethal kiss of icy pellets brushes my cheeks.
Into the comfort of fleece-lined slouchies
I brace my Isolined feet. And I rush for the Tube,
Stashing a hurried student’s list of Farmers Markets
And a London map in the hollow of my armpit…
My Oyster card touches the turnstile of the underground station.
And I mutter ingredients of my frugal meals: milk, cheese,
Organic eggs, mustard, hardened loaves, fresh carrot, white cabbage,
And lean meat. But my mind’s tempted by goodies
That every December brings near the Kings Cross:
Popina’s Mexican Roll, Baked Falafel, Wild Mushroom Quiche
Montadito’s Artisanal cheese, Artichoke Paté, Aubergine & Harissa Spicy Meze.
And then my eyes are dewed, Ah the Indian delicacies!
My eyes stubbornly stray away from the exhaustive list
I’d diligently made- Sundays must go to—*Marylebone, *Walthamstow, *Islington;……
On Saturdays visit— #Balham; #Ealing; #Notting, or, #Parliament Hill; ……
And on Weekdays rush through—@Bloomsbury, @The Portable Wife, @Nudge……
Neither **Dusty Knuckle; **Del’Aziz,…… nor Tesco, Lidl, Aldi – for me
My list, I crumple, tempted by sweet- smelling delicacies!
I shrug off frugality, and sinfully gulp down crusty savouries,
Sacrificing that last penny, I slink into a self- imposed penitentiary.
PS: This poem describes The Kings Cross Real Food Market in London.
This image is taken from Google Pics.