Joephine Lay Nourishment

Despite the rain, the market is crowded. Shoppers stand by stalls 

with bright canopies that shelter the sellers and all of their wares 

but drip efficiently into buyers’ bags.

Impatient owners pull away dogs that sniff at counters full of cheese, 

cooked meats and sweet mince pies.

This ancient market is no shambles, local produce is profuse and fine, 

vegetables shine purple, orange, green to vie with Christmas illuminations. 

Children skip at the side of parents who carry baskets full of festive fayre. 

The aromas of bacon and barbequed burgers waft on the rain-soaked wind 

but the weather can’t daunt the pre-Christmas spirit, there’s laughter 

and greeting everywhere.

Out of the cold, away from cacophony, I stand in the quiet of the library, 

time slows with the stillness of air. I’m nourished now by books on shelves 

and I have time to ponder and stare. 

Stroud is a town vibrant with welcome, but even here, in this goodwill season, 

there’s a toxic frisson. A volunteer holds out The Light, while he stands in line 

with the refugee lady selling The Big Issue.

Society can fail those on the margins, like the poor lady who sits on the ground

and watches the market. Some kind soul buys her hot drinks but she doesn’t

enter the café to make herself warm. 

I hope that Stroud, with its welcoming markets, will always remain a place 

of inclusion where the lost can shelter from harm.