Mark My Words

Market stalls. A market stalls
along the busy cobbled streets
that leak with ice, and leeks
have fallen off a wooden cart.
So lovely.

Stroller wheels. A stroller wheels
A crumpled man, with crumpled papers
Crushing apples with his heels.
He passes by the wooden cart.
The fallen leeks are torn apart.
Oh, so lovely.

"And mark my words," he starts to say
And with a stagger turns away,
"Hunger has a price to pay."
He scoops the leeks into a pot.
The stew he makes is nice and hot and lovely.

The End

1,110 comments about this poem Feed