It's Still Life

An Everywhere Poem: The One Busted for Drugs

Pollen is thick as midges
on a loch,

a leaf blower
and the windscreen
is clear.

Bless their obnoxious noise.

Coupon in my pocket.

Spend £60,
get £20 off.
£60 is easy.

Meat, more meat
and maybe a chicken.

Pallets in the aisle.

Shopping trolleys
stop,
turn,
batter one another.

No milk.
No lettuce.
No beans.
Green cabbage reduced.

“Heatwave,”
says a man
in a green apron.

“Heatwave,”
repeats his helper.

A woman in the queue
points at thunderheads.

“How about that house
on Station Hill,” I say,

“struck by lightning
and caught fire.”

Back home,

a leaflet hangs
like a tongue
from the letterbox.

A new pizza shop

where the dry cleaners
used to be.

The one busted for drugs.

So not a dry cleaner
at all.

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Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point, somewhere, and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.

Some images created with Midjourney; all writing is my own original work.©Misky 2006-2026.