STREET TALK:

On the cobbled streets of old hobbled kerbs,

Dogs on leads, flying leaves & strutting birds,

Ladies in finery, scarves & heels in pretty hues,

Paint-box young, old man on corner, singing blues,

Old beggars begging, young hippies strumming,

Toned lycra bodies sweating & pass us running,

The Rasta locked & the old blue rinsed grannies,

Saucy maidens in minis, showing their fannies,

Bongo-drums, sitar, Beethoven & Bach from afar,

Side-walk cafés, sunny bistros & warm local bars,

World-wide lingoes chittering & go by chattering,

Whizz-passed skateboards & high-heels pattering,

Mama´s raised voices & their babe´s higher screams,

Daddies’ sullen faces, munch chips & lick ice-creams,

The sun comes shining through, then goes away again,

Black clouds get heavier & then down falls cold rain,

The busy day slowly morphs into dark vibrant night,

When sinning takes over & the lights become bright,

Now, very different languages & very different signs,

As the kicked tin turns, dawn appears & the sun shines,

And born is the new day, in the life of urban street talk,

As pigeons strut, wheels roll, words & feet plod & walk.