the last shop

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something about a little street and pigeons

past the road crossed by 

pigeons driven by fear

of hurrying commuters

or hunger for fast food

bags

is the last shop

 

It's forever open door sentried

by wine soaked owner 

unsteady on the

edge

 

pavement and narrow 

road bottlenecks so

that with some relief 

customers hurry by

 

Yet. So like the

books he sells

there is no world

until the page is

turned

 

that door frames

a world of change

that a simple word

unlocks

 

instead people curse

the pigeons

and worry

about clocks

shouting 

departure times

 

 

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