The Potato Seller

The weather worn potato seller
Waits patiently next to her round, metal oven,
Warming herself against the bitter cold.
Surrounded by honking buses and bustling shoppers,
Calm amid the chaos,
A reminder of an ancient way of life, slowly fading away.
Her kindly face breaks into a smile at the sight of a customer,
Aged, knobbly hands reach into the oven,
To seek out the sweetest, most delicious potato,
Before settling peacefully on her stool again,
Watching life go by.