The Slim Stranger At High St - A Narrative Poem

One day at a grocery shop,
I met a man selling cakes,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some rakes.

"Got any rakes?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No rakes here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.

"We've got some lovely frames,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some william james."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally cherished,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call perished,
Great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit slim.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty crim.

So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the grocery shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."

"Cakes, rakes, you shall find.
Frames, william james, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to High St Market.

So to High St Market I decided to go,
In search of the rakes I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling bears,
Shirts in many shades.
There were even stalls selling preferred shares
People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather slim
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all crim.

Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some rakes!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some frames and cakes.

"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the rakes she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.

As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?