Читать книгу Compass and Clock - David Sanders - Страница 11

John Porter Produce

This is the shower

that every day settles the dust.

In less than an hour

it’s passed. Then, a crust

of mud coats everything.

Since now it’s raining,

duck inside. And though the rain won’t stop,

it turns into a mercurial drop

in a bucket. Near the grapes,

a cat naps.

On the wall, a calendar

noting the days the lunar phases appear

is open to June

of last year.

Not that time stopped then,

or slowed, it’s just that it has gone

as quietly as their game of dominoes,

which anyone might lose.

Eggs and fruit are what the days produce.

Each old man knows

the weight and cost of all

the goods by holding them in hand. Still, the one

who’s just played his turn

weighs them on the scale

for a stranger who happened in

while the fruit sat ripening.

Step outside—

the rain has quit and the mud has nearly dried.

The sun is out

and the air, unlike before, is not so dirty.

Inside the bag, the fruit

is fresh, almost bitter, and gritty.