Dalziel Van

He shows his wares in tidy neat rows

loafs behind bars, pane or plain he’d say

and I’d never know the answer

just point at the Pride.

His white coat, clean as a pharmacists-

he looked like my other Grandpa, a shock of hair

that long face, big lugs you’d like to pull.

The other Granda with me

licked his lips at the tarts, all red

sweet syrup, choose the biggest 

strawberry and I’d lick round and

round till I got to the creamy crunch.

Now he doesn’t show his wares

no tune fills my street, no scent,

no Granda’s to stand on the back of the van

a little metal step –up, hop up

chick, he’d say. Now we to Tesco’s or Sainsbury’s

for pre-packed vacum sucked

same as everyone else,

bumping dodgem trollies-

scream filled aisles.