April marks the grand re-opening of our town’s outdoor farm market,
a welcome treat after months of winter squash and sprouty potatoes. The early spring produce is so fresh, it practically comes alive. Have a gander; I guarantee you’ll never look at veggies the same way again:
NO PLACE ELSE I’D RATHER BE
I pass the Mall without a backward glance.
Trendy shops full of classy clothes and sassy shoes and pricey purses,
perfume and cosmetic and jewelry counters
hold no allure for me, not the slightest temptation.
I’m not that kind of a girl.
Only one place can satisfy my lustful appetites.
I wait all week long, yearning to browse this bazaar of sensual treats.
Local, farm-fresh, organic, maybe heirloom…
I amble as rich seasonal bounty titillates my senses
and tickles my epicurean fancies
Stout spears of asparagus stand at attention
in sharp, form-fitting green uniforms, hair carefully tousled
Rows of full-figured cabbages heave and sigh,
their eye-popping curves pushing up above flirty ruffled necklines
Rhubarb divas bedecked in fuchsia and magenta
shamelessly audition for stardom between sheets of flaky crust
Tiny bouquet garnis wink slyly from a wicker basket,
seeking union with meat and mirepoix in a playful threesome
Demure free-range eggs whisper from their cartons
intimations of a golden prize guarded by their earth-toned armor
Long slender baguettes flaunt their wood-fired tans
while freckle-faced English muffins proffer nooks and crannies
Tawny jugs of honey and maple syrup beckon,
drawing me in with their persistent and irresistible sweet talk
One table sports an “exact change” coffer;
Ants in your pants? the sign reads. Someplace else you’d rather be?
I shake my head and wait patiently,
a furtive voyeur of farm market beauty
immersed in a voluptuous spectacle of eye candy.
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