Sonnet at the West Side Market

I wrote this about four years ago, but it still seems a bit ap­plic­a­ble now. Especially to­day. Here is an­oth­er go ’round it. I’m on­ly al­lowed thir­ty min­utes, re­mem­ber.

Early morn­ing at the mar­ket is
busier than usu­al to­day;
the grocer’s spiels are as
pol­ished as their ap­ples.
I saw an old friend there, her
wise cat wouldn’t let
her sleep while the av­o­ca­dos
were on sale.

Spring Fever goes shirt­less
in six­ty-five de­gree sun­shine, spends
ten bucks on a half-pound of
cheese, is friends with stray cats, and
makes love with the win­dows open.
What a guy.

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