The Web Poetry Corner - Hay Machine - Moore Street
Moore Street
by
Hay Machine
The air creamy with root vapours
the short street heaving with fruitcarts
store-high troves of apples and cabbage strew
where Plunkett's open doors stifle the juicy clouds
with the stank of hung beef and giblet puddings
One-ended street with fishy strains
stallers aged with weather'd hides and tweed coat stains
flowers in buckets stuffed to overflowing
dogs and children living in the underprams
three pence each love the bananas