New Poem (sunday in england)

sunday in england, summer


with full baskets
standing in the checkout line
waiting--
the sunday shoppers.
the hairy kid behind
the till
keeps checking his
wristwatch:
it's 9.57 in
2006, and god
won't let you buy
your dead meat
and lager
until bang on
ten, or his agents
the coppers
will get you.


such beauty--the long
wide highway burning
in heat, empty
but for one car just
coming over the hill
into view, you
crossing below
with three bags of shopping.


he's at one of the benches
with a lager in front of him
under the parasol supping
and staring, lost in a
probably-not-particular dream,
while the landlord surveys
the front of the building
with someone official,
both in their shirt sleeves
this second near-tropical day.