A Rainy Tuesday Morning in a Small Town in Belgium

Under a sky as uniformly grey as a
battleship the market place is fully
occupied with cars tightly packed
around the church and the Tuesday
regular: a Daffodil-yellow spit-roast
chicken truck. A short cruise through
proves fruitless and the car park with
the cascade fountain across the road

offers refuge for the Peugeot, safe
inside its cobble lined bay. Rain beats
irregular rhythm on the hood of the
weather-proof coat and the perfume
of spiced chicken fat ghosts across
from the ragged queue - warmed by
the heat of fifty rotating chickens -
waiting for orders of bagged quarters
with sauce or rib-racks. Bells in the

church tower overhead toll a steady
toll echoing the sombre mood inside.
The Ardennes granite cobble stones
glisten in the spaces between the
cars awaiting their mourning owners
as the silver-grey American hearses
form a chromium line in front of the
wide Flemish-oak church doors. They
open, dark dressed relatives and friends
crowd out blinking in the grey light.

On the other side of the narrow ‘straat’
customers buy their daily news and
tobacco, no doubt discussing the recent
demise of someone they will all know in
a town of this size. Its neighbour, Belfius
Bank is the goal for the day and a rain
dulled morning with a funeral playing out
opposite makes it a perfect setting for
transferring funds to pay the annual tax bill.