‘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?



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