the farmer's market

i go the farmer's market
in the early morning. I've heard
through
the grapevine
that they have tomatoes.
ripe and red, straight from
the farm, hand picked.
god knows i need a good tomato.
i may have bought one once,
last summer.
but they have bread too,
home made by some woman or
man with braids and a peace
sign t-shirt, still living
in the ether world of
Woodstock.
gingerbread, yup.
bricks of it wrapped up
and ready to go.
they have pumpkins too.
and apple cider, real apple
cider, squished in wooden
barrels by blue eyed children
without shoes.
sausages, and cakes.
scarves and bracelets.
it's a festival. it's the sixties
all over again.
i hear someone strumming
a banjo,
and someone else banging on
some bongos. there's
organic carrots, organic lettuce,
organic lambchops, and carob
muffins, freshly baked.
grow a beard, put on a pilgrim
dress. all year long.
it's the best.