A Supermarket Christmas Allegory Poem by Philip Housiaux

Abandoned prams, empty identical wired
with white typed feeding bibs about
and missing their coin deposits, chains dangling, unhired.
Staggering down the street they come, accepted
like cold rejoinders and unspeakable truths
of so much selfish, post-coital regret and haggling.
Unconsciously I quicken stiffen, adrenaline flowing
to satiate biological need, without shame judgement following.
The faster bounce rhythm of the trailer
oddly reassuring should I have car parking failure.

Wish and wash, my spirit, glass door sliding
only 21 days and kids fourteen, distant.
This is home help and annual chance, the limitations of others
not a father’s need for moral guidance.
Foyer clean warm, but what is he doing here:
a psycho babbler, purposeful and at home
standing up straight and proud, even while in another world.
Staff and customer study the invisible, ignore
mongrel dog and guard morose at door.
The mental’s face obscured by lucky charm or paper fetish -
Blake’s Collected Works and Engravings, must be only minutes stolen.
The national treasure’s colour plates unclothed and raised
like a priest praying over those in need of saving.

Wings not beating yet suspended in Heaven, no wires.
Red and yellow friction, two feathered fires
with muscles and faces bursting, above an innocent child.
Untyring angelic forces do battle for sovereigns claim.
The boy slumped but kneeling, pitiable crude suffering
while all about - a pulpy mouth shaped halo kissing him
and wet slobby anchoring, a silver thread suspended
to a mouth and a man
who will never touch someone’s baby
without being apprehended.
Saliva flapping, as the spirit within intrudes
“Is your guardian true, and loving? ”

At the barrier, something stirs unguessed.
Three orange plastic bags clutched tight to chest
like over-burdened maternity breasts, nurturing.
Now forced to pause, a smutty laugh leaks out -
memories of an adult magazine cartoon,
and sperm, blindly thrusting, swimming.
As another sperm wiggles through the tight checkout
the adolescent boy experiences a moment of doubt.
But I enter the cavernous warmth beyond
basket akimbo though bouncing no baby,
and aware of no dirt on the glass of my soul
nor self irony.

Shelves as deep as hills repeating in the distance
searching without risking, sound and worthy, press on.
Suppressed, a hurt deep within, a Freudian fantasim
that reaches out to the fertile shelves, passing
from angry wife and mother, to soft gentle sweater
from repellent abrasive son, to computer Gameboy optimism.
Bustle and tinsel, confident stride, what?
Trapped by a blue-white deformed reflection
in beer freezer metal mirror, highlighting.
Just did not suspect, tainted breath, reviling back
slip splutter, red raw gash, the floor spinning,
head then chest crushed by the expelling aisle.
Vaulted contractions pushing purple extremities, reversion.
A child’s pleading eyes look-up,
happiness seeking, open, feeling
but pointless, premature
without the fresh beginning, of forgiveness, no healing.


Edinburgh Christmas 2007