The German Market - A poem by Giovanni 'Spoz' Esposito
The German Market
I can see my breath in front of me -
Billowing like steam train whistle cries,
Though it's difficult to see much else
With that low blazing grapefruit flaring my eyes.
It's not really late
It's three forty eight
It's crisp and biting, it's raw and sharp
New Street's as fancy as a Koi Carp.
We clasp each other's hands,
Heading for St. Martin's steeple
To save us from being swept away by a torrent of faceless people -
A raging river running down to the wharf,
Not like a market from Frankfurt or Düsseldorf.
I'm anxious, yet still excited.
I flex a little muscle, trying to be something I'm not,
Wading through the bustle, then stopping -
At a stall, gripping my shopping -
I'll have a bratwurst with mustard topping.
Then it's onto the next and the next and the next
...gets me vexed.
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