Daily April poem: cobbled out of a day's errands

MAKE A POEM OUT OF THAT

If you can't make a poem out of that,

she said, I'll be disappointed --

but I've forgotten what

the raw materials were: our visit

to the Ghanaian cobbler

with racks of dusty shoe polish tins?

The international market

with the forlorn plastic Santa

in the window, boxes of fufu

and Goya tinned mackerel on the shelves?

Maybe it was the blackboards, chalked

with the names of spring beers.

Cartoon stars soaring and twirling.

The little boy, jumping with glee.

 

 

This poem wasn't written to any particular prompt. Instead it arose out of an afternoon's errands in Pittsfield.