Right Bags Lady

“So can I help, though busy me?”
you seeing she, wee clashing spree
of orange, pink, grip scarlet too,
but brolly, mac, “this weather brew”,
brief craic through space, like wind-up clown,
“but I can bend”, the window down,
and through that space I face, agape,
accoutrements of ribs, creased drape.
“I bought a smock, though looking now
for something suits; your route, now how?
So when you see the orange screen –
it’s on the corner, by the green –
an advert for – though might have gone –
my grandson sorts it – he’s called John –
he’s a real culchie, we’re jackeen –
city, Dublin, where we’ve all been.
Jack’s like his Da, though not at all –
you get my meaning, different soul.
Nixers the lot – I’m coddling ya –
though not so sure if she talks blah.
But your light’s changed, you must be off –
follow signs – as says Father Gough.
And I must crack on; lots to do.
You’re suckin’ diesel – time you flew.”