by Angela Prew
Now we live on the Main Road
where, passing beneath our window,
we have a constant parade.
two busy periods occur week-daily;
early traffic starts at dawn,
a queue of lorries, vans and cars,
and a steady stream of trailers from the bottling plant
bustle into town.
Occasional bursts of hooting or sirens
draw us to the windows or wake us from our rest
and, from time to time, sounds of collisions
and wails as ambulances, rescue vans, police cars
speed up to clear the road of battered people,
animals and goods no longer fit for sale.
The traffic thins out after nine
as the workers line up, slowly, to return home.
Matches enliven the quiet weekends,
cricket and rugby, both played at our rear.
We know at once which side has won
by the time and volume of noise.
For us, the old, whose limbs have stiffened,
there is constant amusement outside.