Indoor Market
Imported plastic kids’ toys, handbags and rucksacks
greet us as we hurry in from the rain.
Then a stall crammed with souvenirs,
mugs and keyrings plastered with EXMOUTH.
The bleach odour of the butcher’s competes
with the rank stench of the pet shop.
Finally, the mystery is solved about where
the town’s elderly acquire their beige clothing.
Near the back, a cafe selling soup and a sandwich,
sausage, egg and chips, damp-looking paninis.
The second-hand music and movie place,
every shelf crammed with obsolete formats.
Nothing here is cheaper than anywhere else in town,
everything is available in other shops.
We come here to check that it is still open,
would mourn its loss if it ever closed.
Don’t think of it as being our kind of thing,
but perhaps it is, if we’re honest.
