Market – a poem

What a dreadful place,
a market is full of people of every kind of race.
Haggling for products,
nobody the crowd conducts
into an orderly fashion.
You are a cushion
for everyone who bumps into you,
this is the place where pickpockets will do
their business most flourishing,
in places such as this, so horrifying.
A avoid them at all,
my anxiety isn’t something small.
I shop online,
even in the Western decline
it’s a great accommodation,
for hermit’s in isolation.

Leave a Reply