Kirkgate, 2016

by Matthew Bellwood

The delicate milky white of oyster flesh
The cold moonlight yellow of cheap ice-cream
The rich dark brown of coffee-grounds
The bright raw red of fresh-cut meat

The vivid green of dangling chilies
The dark blue bruise of shiny plum skin
The rainbow racks of coloured fabric
The tar-black polish in the silver tin

These brightly coloured bargains are made vivid and appealing,
By the people and the stories underneath the leaky ceiling

There is nothing that is sold here that cannot be bought elsewhere
But the items being sold here are being sold with care

There is pride in independence, there is freedom and good grace
In owning your own business, in connecting with a place

In remembering a customer, in not costing the earth
In knowing where things come from and how much things are worth

In giving good directions or good guidance or advice
Or a discount to a regular who can’t afford the price

It may not have the glamour of John Lewis or The Trinity
But a bustling market holds a kind of divinity
For what it has instead is warmth and humanity
And human shops for human people is a kind of sanity