As the morning sunlight brightly shone
Through the window of the corner shop,
It lit the rows of pop bottles
That stood upon the shelves.
Their coloured rays made patterns
As they streaked across those salmon tiles,
Some cracked and worn yet all were stained
By footmarks of the past.
The wall was stacked with magazines
Some bent and creased and out of place,
And lined the narrow pathway
To the counter straight ahead.
Where stood the lonely shopkeeper
Behind those tiers of chocolate bars,
Who leaned against the cigarettes
And stared unto the door.
As he waited for that bell to ring
To break the silence of the morn,
Then greet the same old faces
And to pass the time of day.
ANDREW BLAKEMORE
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-newsagents/
