Morrison's Cashier

Yesterday,
I saw God in the eyes
of a Morrison’s cashier.

Her hair was
frizzled in disarray,
and her skin was leathery,

but her eyes
were soft, kind and gentle,
and her smile was full of warmth.

A man asked
how her son was doing;
‘I haven’t seen him in months,’

she replied.
She was a spark; unique.
I could see it in her eyes!

Here she was,
a drone in the machine,
her life a mockery.

Her passion
was probably to be
found in Strictly Come Dancing.

Empty life,
she was a serf in the
vast kingdom of Morrison’s.

I loved her.
Her heart was big and pure;
circumstance had pushed her down.

Rather her,
than a thousand cold men
in dark suits, consumed by greed.