The Pea-Sheller of Crab Street
She’d be out there all hours, half past three, two minutes to midnight, shelling peas on the front
doorstep, always impeccably scrubbed. The pop of the shuck and the plip of the peas as they dropped
into the chipped enamel colander created a rhythm which marked out the days of all of us who lived on
Crab Street. We imagined her husband out the back, constantly picking, muscles like the end-posts of a
Victorian banister, dashing to the front step with the next batch, no time for small talk or Mars Bars.
Who ate the peas we could only imagine. Who had time to cook them and there weren’t any children –
little room for hanky-panky with all that pea-business going on, all day, every day, even on Bank
Holidays, even when we hung the flags out for the Jubilee, even when we noticed the drones.
Hilary Hares’ poems appear widely online and in print. Her collection, A Butterfly Lands on the Moon
supports Winchester Muse and a second pamphlet, Red Queen, is available from Marble Poetry.
Website: www.hilaryhares.com / Twitter: HilaryHares