Just had a dose of saturday shopping yesterday, and I was so moved by the experience that I had to put it to paper. The fat girls do not refer to my girlfriend. She is not fat!

Saturday Shopping

Shop lights glaring,
Music blaring,
Colours not blending.

Fat girls posing,
Bored men watching,
Salesgirls lying.

Little boys whining,
Weary mums shouting,
Hungry girls crying.

Mirrors are tilted,
Bodies are twisted,
Does it look alright?

Chips in a cone,
Coke in a can,
Eating on the lam.

Rows and queues,
Eyes a glazing,
Choices waning.

Dusk is dawning,
Hope is fading,
The telly calling.

Rain starts falling,
Tired feet aching,
C’mon darling, just one more.

Delighted shrieks,
A dancing twirling,
The thing’s been bought.

© andrew rossiter 2009

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Hullo everybody. Hope you don’t all think I’ve just skived off. On the contrary, I’ve been attending a seminar on how to become self-employed in Germany – not as easy as you might think, this being Germany, the land of the Kafkan bureaucrats. Just another week to go, and I’ll be back to my full stint – promise. Anyway, it’s not as if I’ve not done anything, there’s a draft of a new poem – Selling Points –  about salesmen and their pitches (I wonder if it’s this course I’ve been visiting…?). And I’ve added a few more paragraphs to my current story. See what you think…

Well, I’ve only been at this blogging thing for a week now and I am absolutely hooked. Not in a good way, no. I mean full scale addiction, like I cannot put the thing away, help, help kind of way. You see, I’m one of those number types. If I’ve got one I want two, once I’ve got two I want, yep, you’ve got it, more, more, more. And so it is with visitors. Obviously, being a writer, I want as many people to read my stuff as possible. But that used to be an abstract kind of thing – at the end of each quarter I would get a cheque for how many books I’d sold. Most quarters they didn’t bother writing a cheque, but hey ho – as I said, it was abstract. Now I’ve got blog stats. Everyday. And they’ve got to go up. Everyday. I write begging mails to all my not so many friends. I even write begging mails to my erstwhile business acquaintances. Go on, have a look. And then rub my hands in literal glee as those statistics go up. Going to sleep is no longer an option. I scour the net looking for obscure tips to get more visitors. I spend my nights registering with obscure blog directories, giving away personal details that even my Mother doesn’t know. Hoping, hoping that the figures will increase. (I’m not yet fussy about how many, they just have to go up).
Until today. Today was a day of rapture. Each minute was spent rechecking the stats page. I could not believe it. Each hour brought a gaggle of new visitors to my site. At first, in my naivete, I thought all that registering had done the trick until I looked from where everyone was coming. It was the tag “sex”. This morning I had posted a poem about the relationship between Man and Woman, and tagged it amongst others with “sex”. I had been so stupid, so blind, so dumb. If you want people to come you have to given them what they want. What do they want – the simple answer is sex. Sex sells, full stop. Well, hope you liked the poem, people.