Pike's Market

Market ‘77

The mosaic cobblestone
Walkway so steep lying
Beneath the greyfilled windows
Tiny panes-showing age
Through design

Three old men rocking
Within the glass
Time spent on only
Watching the many marketgoers
And puffing pipes

Loneliness occasionally being
Carried away by the sailor in uniform
Or the raspberry lady hurrying
To her stall– smiling all the way

Rhythmed rocking almost in unison
Broken only for laughter or match
Lighting, while the fading smoke
Clouds the glass slightly more
Then dies

Tattered clothing and rickety
Chairs supporting long lives lived
And memories moving among
The many passer-bys

Aroma of fresh fish
And smiles break through
The greying stub of beards...