Peopled Places,, A Poem

Peopled places, crowds of faces
Rooms filled, belly to back to hip to knee
Playing pool in a crowd dense as salmon in a stream
Landing shots tricked with shots gloried
Yelling at top of lungs just to be heard
Patterns ebb and flow tending to glow
Wondering where they all come from
Mobbed scenes Sound scapes bubbling
When do you stop seeing the pretty faces
When do you stop hearing the stories
When will the crowded streets die back down
Market row or Pub floor filled with feet
Peopled places, crowds of faces.

Friday night pub, Saturday Market day
Charles E. Owens Jr. 24 August 2008