Sounds from the Farmer’s Market
The rustle snap of plastic bags
as shoppers murmur, then select
heavy tomatoes, showers of sugar peas.
A colony of bees hums softly behind glass
as their owners offer teaspoons of their honey to sample.
We all hum, in conversation over the price
of parsnips and pork, the rising cost of kale
and the absence of asparagus. The air
is heavy with humidity. We stroll the aisles
and sweat, salivate at the sizzle
of sausage on the grill. Children cry
in their strollers. Sellers sing their prices,
two dollars a tray or three for five. We chat
about our choices: cherries, peppers and garlic
or berries, rhubarb and chives? We debate
as we drift through the crowd. We are pressed
into ever more narrow avenues, press
our bodies against strangers. We heave our bags
over our shoulders, groan at their weight.
At the end of an aisle, the busker croons
into his mike, strums his guitar strings
and thumps his bass drum in time to our steps.
This poem is in response to today’s creative exercise about a collage of sound & inspired by the above photo taken at the Minneapolis Farmer’s Market. I may still play with line breaks and repetition for more musicality, but I’m leaving it like this for now.