THE BOY IN THE MARKET
By Alice Hamilton
- 2129 reads
THE BOY IN THE MARKET
(an edited version of an earlier post)
A boy aged five or six,
I thought at once of Tom,
The same cheeky grin,
Freckled face, red hair.
But arms and legs stick-thin,
Old shoes on dirty feet,
Shorts held up with string,
Ragged shirt, once blue.
Standing by the fruit stall,
Watchful as a stray cat,
Waiting to be fed.
No bruised pears today.
He views the oranges,
Shining orbs, jewel bright,
A huge pyramid,
Our eyes lock. Do it!
A small hand reaches out.
Fruit cascading, bouncing.
Older lads are grabbed.
Loud yells, punches, kicks.
The urchin’s gaze meets mine.
He grins, crams his pockets.
I buy white roses.
To place on Tom’s grave.
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Comments
I think this reads better for
I think this reads better for the edit, Alice. The reader can immediately identify with the narrator, and the image comes much more clearly into focus. An acutely observed snapshot.
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This manages to be tragic and
This manages to be tragic and wistful, and the white roses steer it away from mawkishness.
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The picture of the lad is
The picture of the lad is very vivid. Pity she can't help him more. Rhiannon
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