I curse the bloody things sometimes.

Last Monday at the Shopping Mall

I grabbed one but a wheel was jammed.

The next one veered off to the right

And the last trolley in the row

Simply collapsed before my eyes.

I went outside to the car park

And spotted a shiny model

In the far corner. Just the job,

I thought, and marched off to claim it.

Light and mobile, it was perfect.

 

At that moment, the missile fell;

Blown in the air, I was all right.

Unlike many, including some

Who made do with the duff trollies.

Perhaps I am too demanding.

 

They say life is a lottery,

But one man is off his trolley.