HALF A POUND OF SOUL

I went to buy some soul, a half-pound merely,

some crumbs of truth, a pint of conscience, sense,

but the salesgirl was short, and sighed severely:

“People these days… They’re nothing short of dense.”

I was nonplussed and in my stride I took it,

saying: “No problem, I’m sure we can cope;

a pennyworth of trust then, just the ticket,

a dab of feeling, and some bottled hope.”

She said: “You’ll have to stand in line, be patient.”

The queue stretched o’er the hills and far away,

to the horizon snaked, for what seemed rationed…

Yet, all just wanted spuds, and less to pay.