It could be Moscow but it’s Newfield Green,
Cold, red-faced people stare at empty shelves,
Milk, eggs and bread are no-where to be seen,
Nothing to be done but console ourselves.
Someone cries out, “There’s a delivery!”,
A mob runs forward, pushing and shoving,
Until the shelves again are once more free,
People stood in queues with baskets groaning.
Ones who missed out are buying toilet rolls?
I can’t work out why this is happening,
Do they know something the rest of us don’t,
Are the factories producing them closing?
I believe that we will all be quite safe,
Because I will now go back home to bake.
Jo Hiley , S14