Don Quixote in Lidl

Butter, eggs, tea and
a small tin of beans.
The trolley half-full,
undecided. An empty
aisle. He runs, jumps
onto Rocinante’s back,
rushing through
the shop, laughing,
holding out his hand
to feel the high grass
as it falls from the shelves.
A swarm of shouting
knights in nametags
wave their long arms,
trying to block out
his target: Sancho,
beatific and holding court
outside, berating
those onlookers who doubt
the old man and
his nag, hooves squeaking,
rattling along.
Sancho eggs him on,
holding up his phone,
filming the inevitable
crash. A crown of stars
gives way to a sweet lady
in green, quietly gallant,
who helps him up. A failure.
She takes his history
as he cries in the back
of the ambulance.