‘I used to work in bomb disposal,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes?’ I answered, nervously, packing my bags,
my Sainsbury’s bags, with apples bread and beer.
His bearded, grizzled face eyed me quizzically
as he whizzed another bar-code past the glass,
‘Beep!’ for me to pack. ‘Twenty-five years I did it.’
Was it true? Could be; heroes need to eat;
retired, why shouldn’t they man the checkouts?
Or was he joshing me – a fantasist compensating
for his lowly, tedious job, with tales of derring-do?
Bags packed, cards swiped – ‘Have a nice day.’
‘Thanks,’ and off I went, not sure quite whom I’d met.
Another poem from Lee Abbey creative writing course
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