1.   Allegretto

 

Handmaiden of cement mornings,

Fishwife, meat-monger, widow, whore,

My town rises in a sea of slime and mist,

Smoke of motors, rain, water from washing.

​

Nimble Venus, wiry peasant woman

In her market-day dress of apron and tapis,

She rides her tremulous scallop of sun,

Along her path sprout and unfold

The awnings, lean-tos and makeshifts.

​

She alights with briskness and grace.

At the beat of her hear hand, her retinue

Of serfs unload her opulent merchandise

From pickup trucks and jeeps.

​

Dark, sinewy deacons of her trade,

Devoted porters burnt by the wind

Of swidden or seashore, they set down vats,

Panniers, pallets, unpack baskets, crates,

Hang scales, steelyards, and hooks,

Set up low tables and spread out plastic sheets.

​

There she arrays her flicking quicksilver

Harvest of bay and gulf, gold-ore of roots,

Gemstones of fruits, bounty

From the Volcano’s slopes, blessings

From highland and valley in the north.

​

Dancing, skipping, levitating, waving

Her wand, she conducts the quickening

Chorus cleaving the quivering hunks of pork,

Slicing through belly and gill of fish,

Filleting white flesh, carving marbled beef,

​

Pouring freshness over tubers and leaves,

Weighing, apportioning, or adding 

Into the bargain an extra sliver or piece,

Calling, cajoling, and accosting me

With the vile endearments of her trade:

​

Come, Suki, poke, touch, inspect!

And I pause to admire and handle her goods,

As the marketplace awakes,

And the morning rises to a pitch. 

​