Market Day


It’s market day. The crush. The prattle
Narrow aisles of human cattle.
Deckchair awnings. Racks of towels.
“You won’t find better garden trowels.”
Pushing. Shoving. Mustn’t miss.
“We come from Burnley just for this.”
“Look George, I’ve got one just like that.”
“I need some fudge.” “Let’s buy a hat.”
“Oh, come on missus, why’ve you stopped
To stand and stare at muttonchops?
It’s been ten minutes. What a farce!
Just shift your big, fat, stupid ARSE!”

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