Poetry: ‘Sunday’

I used to go to church. Now I go to farmer’s market. This is not necessarily social progress, or spiritual regression or vice versa.

Food for thought.

 

Sunday

No church,
Save the pews
Of farmer’s market queues
Populated by devotees
Of locally-sourced food.
Proof of piety
Comes in pies of all variety,
Vegetables in season-bloom
And micro-brewed booze.

No tithes,
Save the price
Of local-grown delights
Worshipped on a folding altar,
Bought and taken home or tried
In host-sized morsels.
(Any larger would be impolite)
Don’t forget to smile your head,
Even if it isn’t nice.

Nibbled thanks of forgiveness,
I’m sorry I Tasted the Difference.
Deliver us from avocados,
Delivered to us, via Ocado.

No God,
Save the knowledge
That you went and got it
Closer to the source.
Circumventing supermarket profit.
And when the market’s ended,
May what you bought be with you.
Go in peace, and blend it all,
With all your actual shopping.

-Un:seen Flirt:a:tions

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