by Paul Roe

Created on: May 06, 2009

When I first saw her dancing
In the crooked-sided streets,
She was in the shape of a loaf of bread
Twirling in a wide spotted sheet.

I strutted up to her and we spun together,
A popsicle stick and the freshest of bread;
The stone buildings that encased us gyrated
With a slight wobble- I was eating the crust of joy.

Old tin cars seemed like the slats of a mill and we the hub,
While lonely voices rang out from the old wooden pub.

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