About Poetry in the Supermarket

[Brownlie]

Bad meter....


I spied a placard painted here
Amidst the pandered fruits.
A blushing apple rendered cartoon
By yellow bus-like flutes.

I can speak of grass-roots, one that seems
To grow from wicker bowls,
And mushroom cartoon jubilee
That turns to wholesale gold.

The other sprouts in puny leaves,
And seeks to make a whole.
The placards signal dollar signs,
And artifice the soul.

The other looks beneath his sole,
And binds us to his boot.
I curse the magic father now
Beholding missive roots.

However, I fear the abstract
Demon who winds with words,
And billows out a dragon’s pall
To choke the yearning herds.

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Hi Brownlie: The poem brings me right inside with visions of all kinds of humorous topics. But, could you please enlighten me as to the last verse. Thanks, Loretta

Well, someone in here posted an article about people putting poems inside the supermarket. So the last stanza is about the pollution of language by using the clout attached to poetry to sell things.