21 November 2013

Sunday Market


09:10 am and it is a Sunday morning, not hugely 
early you’d think, but we’ve been up since three; 
its market day, the scene’s boredom at our stall, 
no-one’s buying our wares in this heat - patrons 
apace are playing fools at hotdog and cold drink 
vendors; staying awake takes awesome effort in 
behaviour displacement - a non compos state of 
‘aware’ if you need reminding politely 

One wonders what drives this aberrancy; who’d 
waste a morning’s glory idly chattering to people 
who bash ears with similar drek - except that it’s 
a ritual years in the making, your reps at back of 
it; they’ve come to buy your fruit in homage and 
respect for what you as a grower stand for 

Didn’t useta warrant it you muse wryly between 
yawns, must be something ado with the insanely 
early starts, but hey, there’s always a warm face 
in greeting - and affable chat as money changes 
hands is appealing - appreciative people in the 
run of it always win you over, hands down 
© 3 November 2013, I. D. Carswell