Trapped in the centre of a revolving door
Old air and new compete to form my breath:
And, half-hysterical, half scared to death,
I lunge into the lobby with a roar,
Letting my shopping bags fall down around me.
Dozens of women turn, but no-one speaks.
One grabs my arm, wipes blusher on my cheeks,
Sprays perfume till a toxic surrounds me,
Then raids my pockets, handbag, coat and purse
With sharpened nails. I take off one stiletto
And warn her off. Her scream: a high falsetto
Awakens all her sisters. Then a hearse
Drives past with me inside it, briefly stopping:
I see the light: I hear the penny dropping:
Hell isn’t other people: Hell is shopping.
You can find videos of Sara performing her award-winning poetry here, and buy her debut collection here.