Lent poem #23

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A stroll down the local High Street had me wondering why the weekly market was so quiet. The weather was good and I could only imagine it was the power of the big out of town supermarkets that was causing this demise.

 

 Our weekly High Street market stood bereft

 of even a casual browser.

Where was the bustle, banter and barter;

the cry of the vendors, the rattle of cash?

Change has overcome the village.  

Sad stalls cradled unloved goods

watched over by glum guardians,

eager even to chat about the weather.

Whether anyone wanted to buy

was entirely another matter.

On this day fruit remained a still life pose,

and greens just seemed to vegetate.

Relief arrived in late afternoon

as redundant shades were taken down

 and pallets packed away.

 

 

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