Sunday Shopping

by Wesley Cooke
(Gosport, England)

Captain Mockbeggar,

Scourge of the High St.

Has locked eyes

With you again.

Now he's the wind,

You the sheet.

It screams from his eyes

And it's written on his face.

An emotional sense

Of relentless pace.

A tannoy against our times,

Almanac of ever-afters.

He forgives them their crimes.

Fuelled by their laughter.

You realise you've stopped

A ringing in your ears.

A chime of a clock.

The chatter of old dears.

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