Monday Bazaar © Poem by Roann Mendriq

Walking through my old bazaar,
I see curious delights;
I'd hate to take the bus or car,
and miss such heart-warming sights...

There's the crusty old fruit vendor,
by his mangoes and his peaches;
He berates the thrifty spendor,
with long political speeches.

Here is my vegetable seller,
Her wares in a neat rainbow pile,
A humble village dweller,
with super-model smile.

The fishermonger cleans her fish,
while screaming at the crows;
beguiling me to bake a dish,
with the recipe that she knows.

Tucked in that narrow alley,
beside the old woodshop,
is a verdant flower valley,
the best pick of every crop.

Marigolds in sunny hues,
in big round wicker baskets;
Hyacinths in the palest blues,
in buttercream cane caskets.

There are kittens creeping everywhere,
feasting on fat king prawns;
Crows dive right through the air,
stealing fish from dusk to dawn.

Old ladies haggle happily,
while their old men wait and sigh;
Fresh fat fish wait succinctly,
as their prices reach the sky.

I buy six peaches and some fish,
and a kilo of wheat grain;
And as I leave, I make a wish,
to come back in time again...