High Street Blues
By Pete Marshall
A lonely man upon a bench
with rolls that spilled from out each side
he must have been, what - 60 plus?
but high street blues had passed him by.
And shouts were heard from teenage gangs
who jostled chips and KFC
whilst girls would egg and push them on
then tease them with virginity.
Some kids would laugh by sequined dolls
in stockinged thighs and see through tops,
and next door folk would come and go
with bucket grub from burger shops.
Beneath the bridge the busker sang
where once the pigeons played their games
as mothers pushed their laden prams
and passed his cap of measly gain.
The rows of shops no longer seen
for coffee bars and fast food dreams
and Bank’s & Cash for precious things,
or pawn that sits where hope has been.
A family pushed and rushed on past
in clothes that once would fit them proud,
where goods are bought too quick and cheap
but never last beyond the sales.
Around the square that marks the end
A man would preach of Lord & God
His voice would sell a damning world
yet, troubled souls would laugh & mock.
And boards were placed on shattered glass
where fights had spilled the night before
when high street blues would come alive
to late night drinks and booze fuelled wars.
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I was walking down my local high street this weekend and my mind drifted to how things had changed, even in my life time...heck they have an Ann Summers shop next door to a KFC!
This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, hosted this week by Adam Dustus. A great platform to share your work, opens at 10pm UK time
