Now the church bell <br />never quite reached double figures <br />as childen sing in assembly, <br />before maths and history. <br /> <br />Out on the neat streets, <br />the eyes of the village watch <br />the swinging, straw baskets <br />to and fro the shops... <br /> <br />were the grocer sliced ham <br />as thin as you possible can. <br />The baker's apprentice <br />injects jam into doughnuts, <br />while dreaming of the flowing curls <br />of village, teenage girls. <br />The coalman delivers nineteen bags <br />at number twenty...cheat, <br />kicked the last on with his feet. <br /> <br />In the library, <br />a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover <br />is moved onto the top shelf. <br />by a lady in tweed and sensible shoes. <br /> <br />The local policeman, leans on his bike <br />and dreams of a post office raid, <br />his picture in the paper. <br /> <br />Not much happens here... <br /> <br />only life.<br /><br />Ian Bowen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/only-life-2/
