Coriander And Cucumber And Nutella And A Dog

Defrauded and trying desperately to remember
the new number they sent through the post that morning.

This meltdown is melting me down on the corner between the cucumbers
and the rack of chemically sprayed coriander they're advertising as fresh, on this a Thursday afternoon.
It's after three and the schools are out and
I've had too much Nutella for this weak heart:
toast is not a breakfast nor a lunch, but a dinner or a tea
or whatever you call it from wherever you're from,
and the sugar free coffee is turning into half cups
drank because nothing tastes sweet enough anymore,
well not like it used to anyway.

A trainee dog-for-the-blind
sniffs where the coriander sits,
then rests its paws on the second shelf where the basil is
and its retired handler tugs hard on the reigns
and it turns its head as if saying sorry for being inquisitive,
I just wanted to smell something fresh,

and I forget about the lost pin number,
note it down as another ASDA-shopping-trip failure
and head home, taking the field-river-towpath-canal way back instead.