POEM: TIN

From under a frown, I utter…
‘put that tin down. Back away from the shelf, leave that last one for somebody else. Your basket already doth overflow, hang your greedy head in shame and on you go’.

How dirty is your anus that you need 48 bog rolls in the next few days, mend your ways,
your diet must be wrong and your kecks must pong. Put those beans back, you don’t need any more fibre if that’s what’s inside ya.

Of which castle are you the king, that you need so many things, more so than me mum and dad, or that little old lady you’ve made look so sad, as you beat her to the last loaf of bread, don’t be a knob, let her have it instead.

As you load up your shiny car, take a moment to think how far, some of us are away from essential supplies, and that while you’re hoarding, someone else vulnerable might die.

All the hand sanitiser in the world won’t cleanse your grubby mind, of your greedy ways, of your acts unkind, everyone for themselves as you decimate the shelves so there’s bugger all left for me and my essential delivery.

You see, I’m stuck inside, on the advice of the wise, so for food shopping I’m a bit stuck, but it’s not like you give a … rats clinker, you’re behaving like a winker. Shame on you.

Being blind I’d normally catch the bus, I don’t mind, don’t make a fuss. Two bags in my right hand is my limit you see, guide dog in my left hand, because, you see? I can’t, very well. But it’s not a sob story I tell.

Because I’m lucky. I’ve got mates, I’ve got friends, and I know that the world isn’t going to end. We look after each other, because we can, and we want to, not like you, not like you, and this selfish hoarding that you do.

My friends keep dropping by, with bits and bobs for our modest supplies, and we smile thankfully and wave, from inside our isolated cave, while we batten down our hatches, missing gigs and football matches, but we’re safe, we’ll get by.

But we’d get by with a little bit more food in our house, if you hadn’t been such a bulk buying lout. Your pantry may bulging with beans, and your freezer might be groaning cos you’re mean. But there’s one thing that occurs to me, that your soul must be quite empty. Quite lacking in empathy as you parade the darker side of humanity, down that aisle.

So put that bloody tin down, you clown. Put that extra butt wipe back, you twat. Go home and lock yourself away, and don’t come back for a couple of days, mend your ways, you utter swine.
I hope the rest of us will be kind, think of others, and not be selfish buggers. When we come out of the other side of this, for those around me, I’ll have a shake of hands, a hug, a kiss.

But for your I’ll have a scowl, a frown, because you wouldn’t put that last tin down. Idiot.