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grocery 


Early morning, the wooden ferry departed.
On deck were some bicycles
 and egg crates in a basket.
I thought about getting you flowers,
 jotted down some limes.
The blue suede shoes
 hung from a backpack
  sat on a chair.
Looked like
 he got it from the fair.
        
Glistening river mirrored our weak golden sunlight
 like a confetti kite on water.
You told me to grab more basil, only fresh,
 or else
 it wouldn’t matter.
The woman yawned under her glasses,
spaced out
 to the departed shore.
Seemed like that cat needed to nap more.

The sun came up on the last notes
of this cold, murky wind.
Pressed my pen
crumbled the shaky-written list
 into my pocket.
Cramped milk jars in plastic,
last week's
 newspapers
  jammed between 'em.
In turns, we breathed to the motor hum.


The ferry finally snugged into dock,
 its floodgate opened up.
We poured onto the slippery dirt road
 headed to the morning market.                                    
Flowers and herbs awaited,
 and then a ferry home to you.
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