‘What’s this one like then…Mel Gibson?’
‘No, that’s the one I’m seeing at the moment,
This one’s more like……’
Snatches of conversation, floating above the crowd,
The current ‘fella’ nicely dissected,
Clinical comparison, organ by organ.
And her a frayed blonde who has seen better days!
Other fragments drift by;
Where did you go last night?
That colour suits your complexion
And ‘He’s got a nerve!’
Mingling with the echoes
Of the vegetable sellers shouting at themselves.
Drab Saturday, illuminated by the mile-long throng
Of animated faces
All jostling for prominence
In the belly of the snake.
There is a sameness about everything;
The dressed-up vendors stalls
And the off-the-peg people.
The faces merge;
At home on any shoulder they choose,
Yet missing none of the bargains
Who owns all those empty shells
That shuffle along in unison?
Never questioning what can’t be seen.
Is life just a taller pair of shoes
Or a new video machine?
And why are the plastic handbags
The dangling cuddly toys
And the multi coloured tracksuits
The only ones standing still long enough
To hear the preacher shouting out
That Jesus loves them?