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.