Yorkshire 1950's Butcher's Market Stall
Centre stage: a white slab displays the cuts from
recent cattle kill. Fresh meat show boosted to
brightest red with the Salox dye. Prime joints at
some shillings a piece – argue the toss. But make
sure tis wrapped in front of you. And check your
change; refuse the farthings.
Waiting in the wings are lesser players lining
up to provide for the purse of the poor. Brown
bunnies, with string bound hind legs, dangle head
down from metal hooks. Once, warm soft fur - life
and freedom. Now, cold hard chrome - death and
profit.
In a white tiled corner there slump gut bags
bulging with boiled down blood. They are marked
up: ‘black puds - tuppence - half doz’. Their
neighbours are many and mostly lower class.
Some end scrags of vertebrae. Oxtails, sad
and heaped in a white enamel tray, browned off,
awaiting offers. But on the lighter side of the offal
fringe there are bleached white flops of
honeycomb flesh. Beast stomachs galore. Fresh
tripe.
The butcher is always jolly and with the gift
of the gab. He stands confident in his uniform. A
white apron with blue bands and random splats
of red.
Copyright © Tony Hargreaves | Year Posted 2021
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment