Sent to the Co-op and its cold,

marble counters with a list,

'Divi’ number inscribed in my head,

lolly on way home as reward.

Slumbering summer day

reminds me of errands

many decades past.

 

Trees still deliver shade.

Dustpan, brush and broom

at the ironmongers.

Nostalgic gaps

on the supermarket shelves.

I remember things that had

to be crossed off the list.

 

But my mind’s playing tricks.

Turkish pop songs in the barbers,

Oriental health therapies

on offer, kebabs,

tattoo parlour,

an Italian tile warehouse

that’s been there for years.

 

It still feels the same, somehow.

Maybe the shopfront scenery

changed, but not a state of mind.

Maybe that’s why people

keep saying to me:

Let sleeping dogs lie.

But what does that even mean?