The Charity Shop
A poem about the things you find there
Oh what a wonderful place to browse,
To try on trousers, skirt or blouse,
See books and secondhand magazines,
Cutlery, crockery, old sewing machines.
Ties for the neck and pictures for walls,
Football and rugger shirts, bats and balls,
Candlesticks, dishes, saucepans and mugs,
Quite a selection of fancy jugs.
Underwear, outerwear, jackets and macs,
Of d-fashioned ornaments, some with cracks,
Pillowslips, sheets and blankets galore
All there to gather cash for the poor.
I gaze and I wonder what tales things could tell,
Like this in the corner, a little brass bell:
I picture a maid in a fine big old house,
With everything there as quiet as a mouse,
Till she rings it with venom and giggles with glee,
As she summons His Lordship and Lady to tea.
I look at the sheets lying dull in the light,
And see them all smooth and crisp snowy white.
Did these blankets cover a four-poster bed,
Or these pillows prop up a soft curly head?
There's a story behind everything that they sell,
Happiness, tragedy, who can tell?
I simply can't pass one, I just have to stop,
To browse and think back in The Charity Shop.