The exercise:
Write a four line poem about: the pest.
This week we brought approximately 300 pounds of cherries to the farmers market, figuring an extra 100 pounds over last week combined with more vendors having them would work out all right. Selling out so early last week was hard, knowing that we could have definitely sold a whole lot more.
So instead of running out just before 11 (like we did last Saturday), we sold out shortly after noon. I reckon at most we could have sold another crate's worth (20 pounds or so) today, so that was a definite improvement.
People really go bananas over fresh cherries here.
Not that I blame them.
Mine:
Overhead or underfoot,
Always in the damned way;
My patience is waning,
Gone with one last delay.
2 comments:
Three hundred pounds of cherries is a lot! I'm seriously impressed, not only with your ability to sell them, but also with your dedication in picking them all.
I think with cherries it helps that the season is so short: people don't see fresh cherries much except for about a month a year, so there's a real appeal to getting some when they're available.
Heh, your pest today sounds tiresomely familiar to me!
The pest
I've something to say,
To get off my chest.
I don't love you at all,
I think you're a pest.
Greg - well, Kat's parents did the picking. We don't have time to pick fruit and tend the garden... but that's why we pay them half of what we make on them at the market.
Heh, yours is short, not sweet, and very much to the point!
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