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