Only In Dreams

I had a terrible dream last night:

They’d taken some apples and fixed them up real good,

But they threw you away.

You reminded them of something they once knew.

Sometimes I think about groceries

Lining the sides of a thousand household waste bins

Waiting for a home.

But when things get so low,

I try to think I know

That somewhere someone

Bought some really shitty bags,

And as everything would pour out,

And the horrors of bin juice

Would steer the senses away from the crime,

Some neglected fruit would scurry away

And form a pact with the earth.

There, in the comforting soil,

Something true would grow and grow and grow,

And under my breath I'd say

'Three cheers for Poundland'.