David Wood (07 April 1950 / London)
Cloudy days when the rain held off
Market day came with its regularity.
Covered stalls like Wild West wagons
Trundled into place at the crack of dawn.
Stalls with sweets galore, skirts and hand bags.
Electrical goods, greeting cards and pet food.
Aroma of fruit and veg, wet fish, meat, tea and coffee.
They plied their trade shouting their wares.
People from all walks of life like woolly sheep
To the slaughter pressed coins into cold hands
Stealing a bargain stolen last night in the dark
From behind the pub full of hapless drunks.
Hapless drunks now sober walking through the
Market, their clothes revealing their poverty, all
Out for that elusive bargain, to what gain?
That something they didn’t realise they wanted.
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