Market Forces
Cold
wind.
Damp
rises
from
the
Lock.
No
place
today
to
sell
tee
shirts.
Walk
down
street
and
see
a
new
breed
of
gargoyle.
Hanging
down
above
shops
leather
clad
ladies
and
trainers.
Gothic
rules
and
holds
sway
It's
subterranean
wholesale
blues
wrapped
in
foil
trays
with
orient
savouries
from
the
east
end.
We
are
in
Camden
after
all.
Thanks for taking us with you and thanks for the poem . . .
ReplyDeleteit was cold at Camden and it seemed like following a trail to the stalls.
ReplyDeleteHence I wrote it in a step fashion.
Glad you liked it.
Ck.