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Tag Archives: poem about shopping

Shopping Spree

If the world throws cheap sweaters
and ten dollar comforters
into your path, checkbook collision
is inevitable as a crash.
Your closet reinvents itself,
dresser drawers line themselves
with lavender, giddy anticipation
for anything made of silk.
Merriam-Webster calls this
“An unrestrained indulgence
in, or outburst of an activity.”
as if you burst into song
in the middle of the street,
turning round and round
in that new skirt,
the pink one that twirls.
A temporary madness.
Ever practical, the bottom drawer
reminds you to stop dancing
and buy some socks
Quickly
before the fever passes.

Women Playing Dress-Up

Oh, we’ve been wild
hilarious
stylish
extravagant and
strange.
All weekend, we reveled
in who we usually are Not.
I played a woman who throws
dinner parties and plates,
handles with aplomb
recipes gone wrong,
a woman who lives on wine
and crepes, who doesn’t need
much sleep or any solitude,
a woman who loves to shop for
new clothes and containers,
all kinds—vases, baskets, teapots—
things to hold the things this kind of woman drops—
earrings, cash, homemade chocolates, tiny jars of eye cream.
Oh, it has been a funny whirlwind of zesty woman costumes.
Now, welcome home to my own quiet self,
writing through the long winter days,
drowsily recalling all the weekend women we were.
And you? How are things there, inside,
where you really live?

At The Mall With My Son

When you were small,
we came here so little
you thought Santa lived
at the mall all year.
Now, taller than me,
an errand for a friend
brings us to this alien territory
where people look like us
except with better hair
and many shopping bags,
tissue paper wrapped
around their treasures.
I’m glad I hate it here.
And glad you hate it too—
glad you carry all your treasures
unwrapped and close to your heart,
spilling from your musical hands,
and your easy smile.

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook

MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry