Right now a car boot sale is forming

as the sun rises the fields are storming

the dedicated put their pride on hold

and wait in the muddy depths of cold.

The chirpy will thrive,  will naturally survive

with fistful of dollars and turned up collars.

      Dealers first ,with their gimlet eyes

      grubbing out the elusive prize,

      knowing the pressure of the moment's rise

      the lows of commerce and the rarer highs.

Lonely moochers dark - eyed souls

Elvis lookalikes,  with  blasted faces

survey the gamut of sagging trestles,of

glassware, brassware, picture frames, kiddies' games

DVDs, toys to tease, casements seized from hideous basements

cookbooks, billhooks, fishnets, wireless sets,

cages for pets,  art deco packets minus

cigarettes, jackets from tweedom,

twelve inch vinyls shouting songs of freedom.

Tin tacks, plastic sacks,

hardbacks, pushchairs,soft bears, Dan Dares

A seventies' lampshade partly squashed

still collectable by all accounts

fussed over while the tension mounts

by those who remember the brylcreem bounce.

Fire dogs, ceramic dogs, baskets for logs

anything in boxes,

empty boxes with signatures in

brass if you're lucky

some passed on officer who left town in a hurry.

A photograph of someone dearly cherished

who, captured in sepia has clearly perished.

The list goes on like the sagging hope

and the stooping shoulders as the clouds settle in.

It's just an inevitable drive from here

to the recycling pit or the charity shop.

The dreams go on and on and on

passed down from dusk to dawn

and another grateful customer clasps

the forgotten, downtrodden, strangely reborn.