Witnessing the brouhaha of pedestrians
On the pavement;
The shop offering mending of shoes-
A make-shift arrangement.
Some stop by; changing their
Worn out shoe laces
Some pass by; registering the
Scorn in their faces
The shop arrives daily in the morning;
And packs-up and leaves in the evening.
The morning and evening embed
A bargain; the source of a living.
The shop mends; catering to the
needs of the walker.
The shop creates; fulfilling the
Desires of the shoe-maker.
The shop’s contents: A beach umbrella,
A thin black rubber sheet; On it the tool-box
Sheets of two shades of leather, A cobbler
And hanging overhead, a bundle of blue socks.
Then there is a prized radio,
The antenna palpating the umbrella ceiling
The last number broadcast on the radio
Was about how a cobbler was feeling.
Now, there’s no voice on it though,
Perhaps,
The batteries have gone slow.
The shop now arrives an hour earlier,
In the morning.
Packs-up and leaves an hour later,
In the evening.
Struggling to sustain itself; A reason to rejoice:
Once again, on the radio, there’ll be a voice.
