Originally Posted: May 14th, 2020
Updated: May 16th, 2020
I still remember the moment I wrote this.
The Farmer’s Market had yet to begin. I had set up with my lawn chair and a “FREE POETRY” cardboard sign. It was early in the morning in the Valley, when all the vendors were hauling their goods in.
As I fed my typewriter some paper, a person walked by. I remember looking up, glancing at them. They were looking at me funny.
I did what I normally do to those kinds of people. I smiled and said, “good morning.”
Taken aback, they muttered “morning” before hastily looking away.
THE FARMER’S MARKET
setting up. On the wrong
edge of morning
a neighborly glance
wrapped in suspicions
finds its way into ‘hello’
october 15th 2011