Here Comes Mouth Almighty

Sudden glances over shoulders, subtle,
unsubtle eyes roll and eyebrows sigh high.

Mothers, grandmothers, aunties, kids,
frozen under her searchlight eyes.
Every Sunday market time
here comes Mouth Almighty.

Who-does-she-think-she-is coat, lipstick loud,
louder anecdotes become conversation corsets,
as she unpacks her slanted stories
among bazaar fruits of lorries long gone.
Words churned deep in turkey neck skin.
Mesmerised children. Don’t stare, it’s rude.

The market packs up at one precisely.
Imprecise men jingle and swear loudly,
yanking skeleton stalls back out of existence.
With escaping breath and grating knees, she turns
slowly through the litter of life moved on.
Look after yourself, love, see you next week.

A tidied and tidied again flat awaits her.
No one upset the cushions whilst she was gone.
There is no call for her and the telephone won’t ring.
Even the most loved photo can’t answer back.
Never in here, but always, always out there.
Things are happening and life goes on.