the farmers market

the farmer puts
on his
overalls,
his farming boots,
loads up his
truck, drives
a half a mile
and brings
his tomatoes
to the market.
he secures a long
strand of straw
in the corner
of his mouth,
and acquires his
limp.
it's seven a.m.
on a sunday
and the city folk
want tomatoes,
and corn.
home made
jams
and bread.
they'll pay
nearly anything.
the farmer
is no fool.
he brings his
art work too.
the popsicle
sticks he's glued
together
to make vegetable
sculptures.
they sell like
hot cakes. it's a
living.