Sunday, Raining, Chinatown

Sunday,
Raining,
Chinatown:
the lady in
Ho’s bakery
tells me
there are no
sweet melon cakes left
but she offers me
a beautiful smile instead
(the best of the day)
and three roast pork buns
the whole lot
for a celestial bargain
of a pound and
twenty-pence
so I take all four
and sit under some
pagoda arrangement
amongst the hurried
Chinese voices
and the sound of rain
on the red lacquered roof
and in the warmth there
I’m glad that
the thousand things you want
are not always
the things you really need
and it's all the same as it was before
(Sunday, Raining, Chinatown)
but for now
at least
it's a great deal better

[O: Go there]