Shabby chic houses
The street awash with the dirt and detritus of market
Lost shoppers dither in eddies
Tides of tourists sweep down from the underground culvert.
Under the gaze of the pike like traders eyes.
The steel drums talk in tongues half guessed at.
Shops I’ll never visit yawn
The odour of meat whimpers from the halal butchery
Serried rows of scarves that are my addiction
White tulips any season
Fish stall, fruit stall, household goods and more as
Young girls pan the retro clothing for nuggets of nostalgia
Vexed pleasurers in the shark filled Electric, A distillate of chagrin and shagreen.
Lovers floating down stream in their bubbles of bliss
In cafes women rabbit over their carrot cake
In bars men belligerate over their beers.
No comments:
Post a Comment