Schools out and all that entails.
Sun shines on mountains of tomatoes, avocados and oranges.
Tourists looking for something shuffle up Causewayhead.
Locals mostly look a bit lost- some injured or otherwise afflicted.
Seems that about a quarter of shops are closed;
no carpets, no papers and no haircuts.
Pigeons warble and peck under
regimented baskets of scarlet petunias
adding a patina of civic cheer.
In here, a voluble teenager
pronounces and pontificates on
the unlikely history of India,
seemingly annoyed that the food
has not turned up in time.
Lost in the gap between fantasy
and the arrival of the fatty sausage sandwich.
September, results and Speech Day await.
penwithlit 