the maple scones

i go to the local

farmers market to eye some

overpriced lettuce

and tomatoes.

organic of course.

coffee. to stroll around

and ponder the cauliflower.

i say excuse

me as i bend towards

the apple crate,

the cider jars beside it.

a stalk of celery perhaps,

or maybe 

a few squash.

there are meats too.

fresh sausage from a farm

not far.

all laid out

and packaged on the square

table,

the apron cloaked woman

behind it, smiles

as i nod, then move on

towards

the maple scones before

they're gone.