Day 4 (write in a new place)
River Market Saturdays
Before the sun rises
produce heavy trucks descend
dues paid for the space
banked on first row ambitions.
Tables groan with the burden
pumpkins tiny and small,
careful — don’t to trip over the large ones
placed precariously near your feet.
Buy a baseball bat shaped zucchini
that hid in the patch, it’s perfect for bread.
The sweet scent of kettle corn teases
ideas of breakfast and the inner child begs.
Sprigs of lavender hang from a corner stall
the bouquet draws the passerby.
Chatter distorted by space
buyers lean in to negotiate.
A heavy chill rushes clothes too thin
leafs only starting to turn.
A saxophone pleads a blue-jazz tune
that does not fit with dawn but sounds
of love, of home, of each one of us
that walk this treasured market
in the early light of fall.