Thanksgiving time, the day before,
Miss Maggie and I go to the store.
The Wal-mart, fifty miles away,
The object of our shopping day.
We circle 'round the pack-ed lot,
Looking for that special spot.
Miss Maggie wheels her SUV,
The shotgun seat's the place for me.
The parking placard displayed clearly,
We seek a spot to park it near-ly,
To the portals made of glass.
I seek a cart to plop my ass.
I ride the magic 'lectric steed
To the baking aisle for what I need.
The thickly milling, holiday crew
Makes it tough to drive on through.
They've glutted up the passageway,
And blocked the walnuts far away.
I charge right through, my head unbowed.
Wally salad's planned for the dinner crowd.
I must get them, despite the mass.
I beep my horn, I have no class.
Then apples, grapes, and whip-ed topping.
Move your butts, Helene is shopping!
I will indeed run over your toe-ses,
I part the seas like a Biblical Moses.
Don't stand there in my way and talk,
Move it lady, and start to walk.
If you catch up here on family news,
I'll have to overrun your shoes.
My patience, she is running thin,
Walnuts are my goal to win.
If beeping doesn't do the trick,
If your head is really thick,
I'll bump you right behind your cancle.
Your blocking traffic makes me rankle.
The produce aisle is not much better.
Make a phone call, write a letter.
Don't stand there, you-all in cahoots,
Move your shiny fashion boots.
You tell me patience is a virtue,
I will launch, and likely hurt-you.
You could have come another day.
I'm here right now; you go away.
Twenty items, and I have more.
The grumbles echo in the store.
My turn now; I'm almost free!
I don't care what you think of me.
The greeter waves, I zoom right out.
Safe at the car I give a shout.
"The marshmallows I have forgotten!"
The list I wrote was misbegotten.
The Wally salad's short that item.
If folks complain I think I'll bite 'em.
We're in the traffic, headed home.
Time to end this little poem.
P.S. Matthew, I found some marshmallows on the shelf at home.