(20 minute poetry)


Flash by lights
seeing sights
sifting Christmas Gifts.

I wander through the market square, but I remember well when there was a market where now is just a memory.

And flooding back to me are streets full of gaiety,
stalls full of fancy inexpensive wares.

She had curlers in her hair and a golden ring in her nose, lips like the petals on the finest summer rose, but time goes on and the market is long gone, only the square remains to remind me of gaiety left somewhere behind me.

She married a man
out of town on a government plan,
became a £10.00 Pom,
time goes on and I can no longer recall her only the old market square remains.