market day one, it is twice a week,

thursday and saturday, much

the same each day, books

for a donation, queue for the butcher.


waiting, eye the *******, ham and oxtail,

admire  pressed tongue, taste the salt on butter.


all addressed with green stuff

for decoration. the bread lady

will let you hold her goose eggs,

feel the weight of them, stroke the shell.


you do not need to buy them, you can

caress them nicely.


they are soft when born, soft as babies are.


above all stands the wooden man, scrubbed clean

with springy hair and wearing arms that hang

below the sleeve.


he talked to a lady from london,

he said.

sbm.