Poetry and Poetics
THE FARMER'S MARKET, DEATH
recoils at the fecundity, rows of seasonal wares
stacked like cannonballs, buckets of bouquets,
local honey, crocheted bibs and booties
stacked up even as their maker dips her hook
to make more, all-natural cheesecake,
fresh strawberries, and mushrooms light as air.
Good morning, asparagus a dollar a pound.
Good morning, he grins, robe trailing
the center aisle on his way to scythe
a sample slice of melon.
Delphinia wilt from his passing
and a perfect peach suddenly oozes.
Slowly the cornucopia empties.
Crates and baskets return empty
into the backs of trucks at noon.
He walks to the parking lot
with a pot of scarlet begonias,
pockets bulging with pilfered produce—
his share, for now, of earth's profits.
© by Joanne Lowery
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