World Poetry Day

My offering written yesterday during World Poetry Day - didn't get round to typing it up until now...

Market Day

It is Thursday,

The weekly market comes to town,

Bus packed with those retired,

And pushchair-mums

Nowhere to sit and so we stand,

Bags stuffed and rolled,

To be unfurled, enfolding purchases,

Cheap meat, cheap veg,

“Getcher fruit, pahnd-a-punnet,

G’won luv, now ‘ow about

A nice bit o’ beef or pork,

Treat yer ‘usband, treat the kids?”

Next stall over, knock-off brands,

No-name clothing, shoes, handbags,

Mobile cases, pretty colours,

Watch-straps fitted, phones unlocked,

Food for cats, dogs, garden birds,

By the tub or sack in kilos,

Fishing tackle, garb and gadgets,

Bait-box maggots, hook ‘em fresh,

Opposite the smokers’ home,

Stash-tins, papers, pipes and bongs,

Playing trip-hop, dub-reggae

(Pretty much the same all day)

Ersatz runic jewels and rings,

Marks of individuality,

Shipped en masse from far Beijing,

Fishmonger’s van sells local catch,

- Least that’s what he said the last I asked –

Though cod’s not what it used to be,

Stripped, near gone, from boundless seas.

Just by, a pop-up one-pound shop,

Tempts with all manner of low tat,

Then olive-man, oiled morsels from the Med,

Laid out neatly and arrayed,

In jars and bowls, cocktail sticks you use to pick,

And on occasion, if I’m lucky,

The Asian ladies’ curry-tent,

Chapatis and a simple dahl,

Completes the circuit of

Itinerant mercantilists,

So back to buses, bags a-bulging,

Maybe a coffee on the way,

For Thursday is our market-day.