a woman with red hair tosses equally red water from a crimson bowl into the road
it slightly splashes my embarrassingly dirty shoes
with a red froth that does little damage,
at least the suds make the shoes smell clean
the screens scream at me - crashing upwards towards their cage
a man rushes out, begins the work of unloading cartons from a van
another builds towers
of bananas
onions
piles of green leaves I cannot name
dead cold eyes of salmon,tuna and snapper
smile and waft the scent of death and childhood memories of oceans
up my unwilling nostrils.
one by one they come to life
open doors on a bustling high street
that feed on days like today
when the sun bids us outdoors.
i came too early to fill my basket
but had the pleasure of watching
seven sisters wake up on a Thursday morning
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment