It's Like Eating Crepes in a Tornado

A poem goes up on the farmstand. On one of the legs that holds up the canopy. Scotch-taped right there to the pole. Has every week, for years and years now. A poem with some kind of a food/farming/nature theme, something appropriate for market.

I can fall behind in my chores from time to time. Oh, there's times when I've picked out a poem a few days in advance, copied it onto a piece of paper, have it all ready. More often than not, I do it late Friday night, rummaging through the shelves, through stacks of books, looking for something that strikes my fancy. But it always gets done.



I've been on a signage mission this year - trying to have a sign on everything we sell, w/ price and everything. Figure it helps sales, helps with customer relations, etc. Picked eggplant for the first time Friday, and meant to make an eggplant sign. Didn't. The day wore on. I told myself it would happen that night, after dinner, sometime. No, it never happened. I went to market this morning eggplant signless. But, I did manage to take a poem. There's always time for poetry.