Our late 1940s corner shop is now run by Mr and Mrs Patel. So, as a quick first draft --
Bargains piled upon the counter --
broken biscuits in a bin,
cans of soup with missing labels,
names hand-written on each tin;
sugar mice, their noses missing,
thick wool socks for outsize feet,
curry powder (much too daring!),
no-one used it down our street.
Smell of coffee and carbolic,
soapflakes, sugar, cheese and tea
mingling with the pink-scrubbed scent
of Brylcreemed errand boys like me.
Long-gone faces haunt the shop now
where, behind the soulless hurry
of its shrink-wrapped, smell-free neatness,
hangs a homely waft -- of curry.
Last edited by Martin Parker; 05-14-2011 at 12:58 AM.
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