In Tescos, where I never want to be

I am in Tescos,
where I never want to be.
I am wandering round Tescos,
muttering to myself.
With my ipod in, and thank God for it -
it's the only thing keeping me even halfway sane,
and that's not saying very much.

I am wandering round Tescos,
muttering to myself,
a shade too audibly, I suspect,
for anyone to take comfort in whatever sanity I have left.

I am filled with distracted hatred,
Hitler with a shopping list.
I cannot but voice my conviction:
I'm convinced that everybody here,
that everyone could get the fuck out of my way,
I really am,
if they only put their minds to it.
Go on. Fuckers.

Oh God, now it's the self-service checkout.