"Junk Hunt"

No, I can't explain why.
Searching dor what?
Row after row
Shelf after shelf
Of charidee tat
Full well knowing that
I'd rather spend my money
Not on fancy honey
But something basic
Like home brand
Baked beans from Tesco.
Instead I pick up
A book or two
That I will never read
And that I don't even need
Not just adding to
The aforementioned tat
That clogs up
My hoarders flat
But pointless
As I work in a library
Nine to five and more.
What I WOULD love to own
Is a lone tome
By a pretend poet
Who's probably a little
Mental in the head
But...nobody's going to publish
The crap that I write.
Although, with self-publishing
One day I might.
If I had the spare dosh.
But financially
I'm permanently under the cosh
So it's pie in the sky.
Maybe a tribute to me
After I die?
Until then
I shall continue
To scribble
In notebooks like this
That I found
Five for a pound
At the Sally Anne shop
In Catford
While hunting for bargains
I don't want
Jostling for unwanted bargains
Alongside old dears
With nothing better to do
After their early routine
Of the Post Office queue.
Oxfam, Red Cross,
& Scope are boss
That's my groundhop routine
For the rest of my days.
Right now I am
Breaking into a sweat
It's sinking in that
This is as good as
It will ever get.
But no time at all
For self pity or sorrow
Back to work tomorrow.
It's not much fun getting old
Never gonna be rich
Hoarding pots of gold.
I don't want to swear
But bloody hell-fire
Still two long decades
Until I retire.

Dulwich Poet 8th January 2014.

(I was off work today, and looked in a few charity shops, which I like to do...)