Market

A piggy went to market,
is how it goes.
The smell of fresh meat,
whistles around
when the wind blows.

A childhood treat,
family day-trip out.
Happy to wonder around,
the endless aisles,
walking for miles.

Butcher barters with onlookers,
‘two for a fiver’.
Last joint of British beef
is sold,
you won’t get it cheaper.

Try to avoid eye contact,
at claustrophobic clothes stalls.
‘I’m just looking’,
as he negotiates a price
for goods I don’t want at all.

No security checks,
before transactions are paid.
CCTV in seller’s eyes,
trusting people of good heart
will respect their trade.

How times have shrunk,
the rivers that flowed through
are now trickling streams
of punters
more careful with their dough.

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