The Woman Who Shopped
went out with a silver shilling, willing to buy, bought
an apple, red as first love's heart, bright as her eye,
had plenty of change, purchased a hat with a brim,
walked with a suitor under its shadow, ditched him;

saved up a pound, a fiver, a tenner, haggled the price
of a dancing dress down to a snip, spent the remainder
on shoes, danced from the house down the street, tapped to the centre of town where the sales had commenced,

applied for a job for the wage and the bonus, blew it
on clothes; wanted a wedding, a wedding dress, groom,
married him, wanted a honeymoon, went on one,
looked at the gold of her ring as it flashed in the sun;

flew away home to furnish each room of the house,
shuffle his plastic with hers, deal them out  in the shops
for cutlery, crockery, dishwashers, bed linen, TV sets,
three-piece suites, stereos, microwaves, telephones,

curtains and mirrors and rugs; shrugged at the cost,
then fixed up a loan, filled up the spare room with boxes
of merchandise, unopened cartons, over-stuffed bags;
went on the Internet, shopped in America, all over Europe,
tapping her credit card numbers all night, ordering
swimming pools, caravans, saunas; when they arrived,
stacked up on the lawn, she fled, took to the streets,
where the lights from the shops ran like paint in the rain,

and pressed her face to the pane of the biggest and best;
the happy shoppers were fingering silk, holding cashmere
close to their cheeks, dancing with fur; she slept there,
curled in the doorway, six shopping bags at her feet.

*   *   *

Stone cold when she woke, she was stone, was concrete
and glass, her eyes windows squinting back at the light,
her brow a domed roof, her thoughts neon, flashing on
and off, vague in the daylight. She seemed to be kneeling

or squatting, her shoulders broad and hunched, her hands
huge and part of the pavement. She looked down. Her skirts
were glass doors opening and closing, her stockings were
moving stairs, her shoes were lifts, going up, going down:

first floor for perfumery and cosmetics, ladies' accessories,
lingerie, fine jewels and watches; second for homewares,
furniture, travel goods, luggage; third floor for menswear,
shaving gear, shoes; fourth floor for books, toyland,
childrenswear, sports; fifth floor for home entertainment,
pianos, musical instruments, beauty and hair. Her ribs
were carpeted red, her lungs glittered with chandeliers
over the singing tills, her gut was the food hall, hung

with fat pink hams, crammed with cheeses, fruits, wines,
truffles and caviar. She loved her own smell, sweat and Chanel,
loved the crowds jostling and thronging her bones, loved
the credit cards swiping themselves in her blood, her breath

was gift wrapping, the whisper of tissue and string, she loved
the changing rooms of her heart, the rooftop restaurant
in her eyes, the dark basement under the lower ground floor
where juggernauts growled, unloading their heavy crates.

The sky was unwrapping itself, ripping itself into shreds.
She would have a sale and crowds would queue overnight
at her cunt, desperate for bargains. Light blazed from her now.
Birds shrieked and voided themselves in her stone hair.