[Rob Stuart]

A Sonnet for Tescos by John Keats

I wander oft amongst these stately aisles,
Where one may many gourmet foods procure,
Entranc’d; I’d rather linger here than tour
The ruin’d temples of Aegean isles.
They ne’er run out of bread--there’s always piles--
Their fruit is ever fresh, their cheese mature,
The check-out girls are charming and demure,
And fairer still than Helen was, with smiles
That make each moment queuing seem a joy.
Potato waffles, Wotsits, Snickers bars,
Exotic oriental leaves--bok choi--,
And gherkins too, display’d in crystal jars;
Such dainties are the buyer’s to enjoy,
And stir me more than any grubby vase.