At the ACME supermarket
a cyclone hit the tuna fish, water, pasta isles,
like Nantucket shoals that will not be spared.
I find a few bouquets of flowers left in a bin,
choose the least beat-up roses,
and bring them home.
On our wedding day, remember
the hurricane blowing down the arbor
while we said our vows?
It is our anniversary tonight.
We celebrate, as we must,
the maelstrom.
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qbit 
Foreshadowing of a hang-on-to-yer-hat marriage. Like your end words on this; implies that the aisles are spared, but not the land/the people — nice juxtaposition. Good stuff!
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Thank you! When the going gets tough, the tough write poems!
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Tough guy ~~ great write!
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Thank you so much!!
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Fabulous.
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Thank you so much!
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Oh yes. I hope that you and your siren are on your raft, drinking umbrella drinks just to goad Henri.
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If it gets crazy, we will cower in the valentine bathtub.
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Ah, the erosion of the grocery aisles… and our corporate common sense: in the face of impending catastrophe, set sail for stupid. A great and horrible truth in that first stanza.
The fact that even with chaotic pre-storm jitters, the denizens of Gotham still find time to pillage the flowers as well boggles the poetic muse.
Bathtubs can be romantic… the gentle swaying of the tub in sync with the swaying of the building.
Happy Anniversary, poets!
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Ahahaha!! So great!
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