The roses are waiting

(this poem explores how Gunsel and I decided to leave our posh jobs for till jobs at Waitrose)

the roses are waiting

but I can not

and Gunsel can’t either

so full of cravings

my peace, her time

we seem to get neither

alas, we have tried

our best and our worst

to make this a living

the moment has come

we’re raising a toast

our jobs up we’re giving

don’t pity us, reader

don’t even try

to make this last longer

our jobs are dead

our heads are down

but our will just got stronger

we’ll pick up the brushes

we’ll handle the tills

the shelves we shall fill if we have to

so, no more debating!

at Waitrose (no-frills)

the roses are waiting