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.