That old sweetshop on the corner by our school,
Even now when I recall it my heart quickens
and remembering all those sweet-filled jars, I drool!
The proprietor, a character from Dickens,
Old Nacky Norris stoops, his ear trumpet
Bent to catch the meaning of my childish treble.
My sister, Poppy, squeaks but let her lump it—
She wants some mints but she can suck a pebble
For I’m the one today who has the money!
The shelves are stacked with every kind of sweet—
Those chocolates that have centres soft and runny,
Marshmallows, fudges, toffees—what a treat—
Dolly mixtures, jelly babies, acid drops,
Great gob stoppers—whoppers, humbugs, butterscotch,
Liquorice all-sorts, barley sugars, lollipops…
These days I’d have to let my belt out a good notch
But then I had a figure like a shoelace
So once a week to Nacky’s old shop I would venture
And spend an afternoon just stuffing my face
Which explains why I've changed my native born teeth for a denture.
*Poem written in response to a challenge by Scarborough Gypsy to write a rhymed poem about a sweetshop remembered from childhood which contains the words—‘trumpet’, ‘poppy’, and ‘shoelace’.
Pete Crowther
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/challenge-poem-1-there-s-a-sweetshop-on-the-corn/
