looking for a tomato

after years
of passing by the farmers market,
you decide to stop.
you are low
on tomatoes.
two to be exact.
maybe you could buy some
here.
everyone has their own
recyclable burlap
bag, which makes
you feel unworthy,
and sandals. you could swear
that you just
saw someone wearing a poncho.
there is a feeling of left
wing liberalism
in the air.
a slight fog of medical
marijuana
and new Yorker magazines.
it is a gluten free zone.
there are peasant dresses
and men
with glasses on the tips
of their noses,
peering
intently at peaches.
everyone is pleasant
and happy to see so much
fruit and vegetables
on tables,
in bins and baskets.
it is a small Woodstock
without the music and mud,
a grateful dead concert
without jerry, but
in an hour or two it's gone,
not five.