It's Still Life

(an off-piste Everywhere Poem gone for Six)

“How is it in there?” asks a man.

“In a word, chaos,” I tell him,
“but worth it; the olive oil is half price,”

and I close the boot of my car
while his wife claims my empty trolley.

I hate this place
but always return,
navigating the demonic rituals
of warehouse shopping:

hotdogs,
infinity cola,
endless refills for £1.50,

and the inevitable squirt of ketchup
down someone’s shirt.

Mmmm …warm cookies,
burnt sugar, and tyres —
they all smell strangely alike.

A young man carrying a hotdog
studies a stack of rubber
as if considering a major life decision.

“Yes, absolute demonic chaos,” I say again,
looking up at the table-flat clouds,

“smells like rain,
don’t you think?”

---

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story, including the prompt word ‘table’.  Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is authentically my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.