Charm of the old world.

CHARM OF THE OLD WORLD

   With a basket in one hand, shopping list
   in the other he said Sixty years ago
   they'd write your name in a book
   and after a month you'd get a little present
   moving away down the aisle, leaning over
   to read the labels on the packets and jars.
   Then lining up in the check-out queue
   where he told the girl packing his bag
   he put the heater on before he went out
   so his wife would be warm.

   Then out the door he went on his five kilometre walk home
   his legs keeping up a sprightly pace
   along the terrace under the trees.
   Over the bridge at the South end of town,
   his back slightly rounded, chin up,
   eyes straight ahead, the lips of his mouth
   pretending to taste the port before they went
   through the hotel door. A couple of snorts
   to re-acquaint himself with the gossip of the town.

   In some quarters he'd be called
   a woman in man's clothes, but his cheerful smile
   and kind words have the charm of the old world.
   That ghost town inhabited by the memories
   of older folk. Folk losing their footing in this
   modern age as out the pub door he came.
   The plastic bag rustling in his hand,
   the view across the road seen a thousand times
   as he stepped away from the kerb.
   The sun riding his shoulder like a bird.