The Street Buyer

Always on his feet
dragging turning pushing
the typical rustic
odd two wheeled wooden cart
of ancient discovered artefacts
it seems,
layered with dusty mud
creaking tweaking rolling
into lane by lane,street by street;
He is Buying,not selling-
old tin cans, newspapers pale
books torn, pipes cut
tyres flattened,shoes worn,
Calling ' from house to house
shabbily shorn with hints of 'louse'
He is 'all business' no yelling'
quick in his art as he pulls the cart
'His Loud Call'shakes you with a start
if you wish to make a buck or two
then its over to you
For he won't wait outside your gate
'His time is money' never to be late'
Move move move , Call Call Call-
'sell your stuff''now once and for all'
Its just the sound for you
The words are minced,its the tone so true
come rain or storm, he comes early in the morn;
what rugged determination, consistent regulation
no discrimination- his trade graph'
never shows a fall;
Hear Ye Here comes His cart and call
Are you ready with your goods and haul?