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Rated: E · Poetry · Community · #2319813
A pen picture of a city awaking.
As the sun slowly climbed above the skyline made of roofs,
Chimneys, vents and aerials. Waking the occasional sleepy pigeon.
It bursts upon the startled city, newly bathed in recent rain.
Pavements steamed. All was glare and flash, and blinding light.

Early morning cooking smells seemed to affront the freshened air.
Joggers, their ears plugged with personal performances,
Puff, sweat and pant past dog walkers with little bags of 'business'.
Here are market traders, locking together their stalls with practised ease.

Pulling trays and racks from rusty vans, to lay upon the altars of commerce.
Seagulls clamour and squabble as they race the cleaners to pick over
Discarded bags and boxes of congealed chips and batter, kebab and pizza.
The disregarded haul themselves from frigid doorways to cough and hawk.

Behind the still locked doors of shops there is much activity as food is cooked,
Shelves refilled, and carpets hoovered. Coffee cups cool besides the tills.
Bundles of newspapers are freed from their binding to shriek out the latest
Celebrity outrage, terrible atrocity or heartbreaking dying. Gossip sold as news.

Tiny sweepers purr along the paths, swerving expertly around the signs and bins.
The sound of the traffic swells as workers head to begin their days.
And the morning embraces the day wholehearted and vibrant in the sun.

Line Count: 19
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