Once where fish and smugglers.

 
The map machine took our pound,
but no way forward,
a fast upon the quay,
shops as they used to be.
 
A green grocer,
an angel pretty,
a darting silver catch of herring,
all the town a dancing ditty.
 
You alright Pat?
and that and that,
a picnic in the head,
come sacred wine and bread.
 
How they turned coal into diamonds,
as jet as a star,
this luck will take you far,
a canny lad,
for all that.
 
And that and this,
all the dog's piss,
gold chains,
summer rains,
this rainbow time of life.
 
She has gone dream shopping,
down the lanes,
the champagne popping:
better to wait in quiet anticipation,
than to arrive,
Bram Stoker had a cake in Bothams,

as did I. 
 
~