well before advertising shouted fresh

a woman down Hunter St decorates her window

as purveyor of edibles, proprietress of freshness

she has no telephone to ring for supplies

food webs of people seek her out

carting fuel on foot, she's a cold expert

with the iceman and milkman

with the bread man and pastry cook

she learns a crumb or two hundred

a fruit barrow man throws a few plum jokes
what if they don't turn up, what if

the bread man's sick, the daily bread

of the office workers, their ham sandwich

can you cut that with mustard?

what if I'm sick, the thought is dismissed

her only real worry is – constant worry

and this is dangerous thinking for a

sole proprietress, existing by words

word of mouth, food by the mouthfuls

dangerous as running out of bread

with no phone, fax or email in 1937