by Eithne Cullen

 

He stepped off the train and flourished his travel card,

The world’s your Oyster!  He told the railway guard.

Down past the fish shop’s icy-cold display, he thought

to tell the fishmonger: Bait the hook well. This fish will bite.

And though he’d never even heard of a steak bake,

he strolled past Greggs and commented:

I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.

 

And round, along by Poundland, gazed on fruit and veg

cried: Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon.

He sniffed such scents as he had never smelt before,

mindful of poor Lady Macbeth who sought

All the perfumes of Arabia to sweeten her little hand-

Seeing that she could have bought sanitiser – from a stall –

in a pleasing pump dispenser for ease of use.

 

Beside the Building Society he watched someone withdraw

cash from the strangest chink in the wall, and paused

to scribble down a line: neither a borrower nor a lender be…

might come in useful at a later time.

Stepping out between the Library and the Town Hall,

adjusted his doublet and thought up wise saws –

witty ripostes for the interview ahead, and smiled.

 

On entering the library, he saw books in such number

he had never seen: his pleasure was to pore upon a book

to seek the light of truth, surrounded, now, by

words, words, words, like poor young Hamlet.

And up the stairs, ready to start the interview,

on seeing row on row of reading men and women:

Oh brave new world that has such people in it!

 

He saw me standing there, ready to begin

the interview for Write On! magazine.

 

Copyright Eithne Cullen 2020

 

 

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