She said that she hated Morrissey in aisle seven,
I tried to change her mind until we reached eleven.
In front of the frozen berries I saw that it was fruitless,
and that making her warm to ‘Kill Uncle’ was useless.
I wondered if I could ever love a girl who despised The Smiths,
yet was still full of wistful hope when we reached the breadsticks.
I was praising ‘The Boy With The Thorn In His Side’ in aisle nine,
later on, the same thorn (your smile) piercing beside the wine.
We had other things in common, I’m sure, but not enough –
never enough, stumbling onto sports talk amongst the foodstuff.
You seemed to like Jonny Marr though, somewhat, as we passed by the bread,
but even the loafs knew ‘The Messenger’ couldn’t compare to ‘The Queen Is Dead.’
Chichester, January 2016