The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the barbeque.
Had a better than expected market this morning. Going in I was thinking a lot about last year's parade, which felt like it dragged on forever while hardly anyone was shopping. This year the parade seemed a lot shorter and there was only maybe a ten or fifteen minute lull while it was going on.
Maybe it was less interesting than last year? Or maybe last year's version only seemed so long because nobody was in the market.
Either way, we sold out of nectarines, apples, peaches, blackberries, raspberries, cucumbers, zucchini, and corn. We brought home some tomatoes, maybe a pound of pickling cukes, and a handful of onions. Not bad at all.
It also served as a fine illustration of the difference between the Penticton and Osoyoos markets: during the three hours of the market on Wednesday night we sold a grand total of two and a half crates of fruit, whereas today, over the course of four and a half hours, we sold twenty-one crates of fruit.
Also, also: the space bar appears to be working properly again. No idea what happened or why, just glad that it is.
Mine:
Fire up the grill, boys,
I've got a fresh kill!
We'll eat well tonight, boys,
And ain't that a thrill?
2 comments:
If no-one was in the market then you had nothing to do but pay attention to the parade, so it would feel like it dragged. Well done on the sales though, that sounds like a pretty good market, and it certainly seems like it outdid your expectations!
I like the enthusiasm that comes through in your poem today; I almost wish I were there at that barbecue with the feasters!
The barbecue
It's pouring with rain and she's grinning with glee,
Says it's perfect weather for a barbecue.
But when you consider the smoke she sets free,
Perhaps it's not far from the truth.
Greg - yeah, I suspect it was a combination of having nothing to do but observe the lack of customers and the actual length of the parade.
I'm, uh, not sure I could say the same about your barbeque. Though I remain intrigued by this 'she' of yours.
Post a Comment