By Paul Hackett
Unfolding across a hill, a Rome of the Marches,
Narrow streets of tar crying out to be cobbled car free tracks
Crawl like ivy amid esoteric shops, pubs and retail chain stores.
I ask myself, 'where am I?'
A Hill Town: a Shropshire renege,
Both Welsh and English in style, but most English in character.
The too large church stead imperiously
Atop the otherwise spire free townscape
Perches over a re-birthing Phoenix
Arcade, post office, world wide restaurants and supermarkets:
Concessions to modernity
Ancient market hall has become the home of town history, and occasionally markets
A hotel with royal river views
To the west over the Herefordshire plain
The well-known towns face for those passing by
In summer banners span the streets promising cultural delights
Bringing international elan, Ken Dodd at the festival
River Wye swollen, floods the Low Town in winter
Traffic wardens guard too few parking spaces
New age travellers supplicant with their dogs
Who can tell the locals?
Middle age women in cloths: easy on the pocket
Middle class divas in Harrods fashion
Men bypassed by stylishness
Skin heads walk past talk on their mobile phones
Young women parade their femininity
A Peoples' caf, a place to meet old friends and make new.
And Artists! Alternative practitioners!
Seeking an alternate way of life in this township:
A town of assorted styles and characters.
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