I get me to
the farmers market. . .

even when my oomph
runs somewhat low,
the market tends to spark it. . .

So I go,
because I know
I’m gonna like it,

whether as a pre-thought junket,
or a wait-see choice
to on-a-lark it. . .

so many vendors,
stands full strewed
with plenty kinds
of bright and cheerful food,
so fresh
you’d almost think
to eat it best,
you’d have to drink it.

rain or sun
I know
+++++the trip
+++++to mingle in the lively group
+++++of folks all there
+++++to sell or shop
+++++will end up so much fun,
+++++I strive to stick close to my plan
+++++and not to fret or wring my hands
+++++in efforts to rethink it. . .

+++++when the shopping round is done,
+++++I know I can sit down
+++++and put a piece
+++++of fresh-picked food
+++++into my mouth
+++++where a few pairs
+++++of my strong teeth
+++++will bite off a little bit,
+++++and some others
+++++on it mash and beat
+++++to slowly liquefy and shrink it,

+++++so that my tongue
+++++can do its thing
+++++with ease,
+++++to touch and push
+++++that vital, broke-to-liquid thing
+++++and down my throat to slink it.­­

This entry was posted in CHEWING, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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