Maybe it was the grey, you know
The grey that made me buy you so
Adrift among a sea of blues
A raft of overbearing hues
Your slate-grey top, those golden crescents
Slowly drew me to your presence
Your rigid shape defied finesse
A beacon of middle-agedness
I swept you up, I looked both ways
Your Hi-Gear label met my gaze
In place of risk, instead of thrills
You promised food perfectly chilled
And it was done, my choice was made
The other cool bags scowled, betrayed
So off we went, the car park beckoned
Checkout done, I stopped a second
And felt it then, I felt it go
Youth slipped away with you in tow
A glimpse of things that could still be
Morphed into mediocrity
But out I strode, and never paused
As we emerged from Go Outdoors
And later when my husband asked
What the hell is that? I paused, aghast
And realised then, agog, distraught
The ugliest thing I’ve ever bought
Is a cool bag with a slate-grey top
That sells for fifteen quid a pop
(Maybe it was the grey, you know?
The grey that made me buy you so.)
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