We go to the shop here, just for the twelve mile ride,
a mini excursion along the coast.
Like ants to the nest back from foraging,
we stash our purchases in fridges and cupboards ,
to bring out later and unwrap to soothe our lacks
with too much alcohol and chocolate, in between pulling on nicotine,
some of us try to make sense of poetry, poetry that half forms in our hearts, gleaned from the twelve mile drive, the twelve miles we never tire of.