Here I am.
Selling you fruit and veg.
On a street corner.
The corner of Frederick Street.
This is my life.

This rain smitten street isn't mine.
I am passing through.
People come here everyday.
They touch the food.
Seeing me when they pay.

I recognise some of them but we don't speak the same language so don't say hello.
I speak in my mobile phone to people living here and back home.
My boss tells me to fill plastic bowls with so many pieces of fruit.
and to sell them for a pound.
He knows how many bowls there are and counts the empty ones.

I should live in a street where black cars are outnumbered by coloured carts.
The air smells of spices and burnt sugar.
But instead I am here.
Sometimes it's exciting but mostly I sell fruit.
And watch.

I don't know these houses.
They are a mystery to me.
I live in a room with my brothers. My sisters are next door.
In the morning I hear my mum shaking out bedclothes and smell the day's bread baking.

I don't know how long I will stay here.
Selling you fruit and veg.
On a street corner.
It is my life.
And I think I might have a little bit of a say in it all.

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