As I was standing the queue to go into the supermarket, I let my mind wander. I remembered a poem I learned at school, by John Masefield called Sea Fever.
I am sure it has many faults, but here goes:
I must go down to the shops again
to the lonely streets and the sky
And all I ask is a sanitized trolley
and a hand to steer her by.
And the shelves stacked with toilet rolls, their white sheets shaking
And a grey mist descending on my face,
As I wait in the queue as the grey dawn is breaking.