It thrives with communal brio
And the breath of commercial nerve
And strives to reckon with the assembly of
Men and beasts, from cockcrow to roosting time,
All dressed for the talking-and-chattering event.
Wares have the abundance of aquatic life,
Displayed luminously on broad street squares, tabled,
And on fringes so remarkable for their liveliness.
I get relieved by what the Germans call Günstig —of
Prices friendly and heart-warming; of traders and customers
Enjoying fraternal customs signed and sealed by the cohesion of
‘Buy and sell’.
Sundays carry with them the delicate season of mini Christmas
When prices drop,
Drop
Drop
And fall
With the din of association and assimilation of trade,
Formerly known as barter,
Now known as hand-and-pound sterling.
Sundays are loudest,
Friendliest, and surrounded by the pother of kindergartens.
A common market, we walk through it, careful not to upset
Wares on the fringes, with the swishing sound of our new, firm,
Razor-edged, calf-length winter coats, sold and purchased same place,
Same time,
With a farrago of items —comestibles and imperishables —
Among which is Elton John’s Made in England,
A sound of music that’s pleasant to the ears and soul. . . .
And even sweet-scented muumuus from distant Hawaii.
Oh, I can’t wait for next Sunday!
It’s a jaunt!