The poetry shelf at the bookshop
Is tucked quietly away, right at the back
Down a short aisle that is stacked 
On one side with blue plastic containers
And a trolley of miscellaneous items
Waiting to be sorted

All the new hardbacks for Christmas
And the 3-for-2 wrapping paper,
The book-lover's gifts, the puzzles
And the ping pong sets
Are in the open plan section
Where the Christmas shoppers will soon go

But the words from the heart
Spilling out onto pages
Barely contained in their bindings
Are kept in the aisle at the back
I think if they were allowed to be centre stage
We would be so caught up in their poetry
We would never look for anything else