The Newsagents

As the morning sunlight brightly shone Through the window of the corner shop, It lit the rows of pop bottles That stood upon the shelves. Their coloured rays made patterns As they streaked across those salmon tiles, Some cracked and worn yet all were stained By footmarks of the past. The wall was stacked with magazines Some bent and creased and out of place, And lined the narrow pathway To the counter straight ahead. Where stood the lonely shopkeeper Behind those tiers of chocolate bars, Who leaned against the cigarettes And stared unto the door. As he waited for that bell to ring To break the silence of the morn, Then greet the same old faces And to pass the time of day.