ode to the vendor


eight stops away

from fruit to fendi

scented oils, CD’s

barters, bargains and smiles

when faces are recognized and names are recalled


his name was bilal

saw the amazement in my gaze at the intricate African emblems

that i couldn’t wear

was not aware that behind his stare he made magic


next week he called me by name

adorned my neck with an intricate emblem of Italy

gave me a large bottle of Egyptian musk for free

just so we could trade smiles

new laws forced the removal of vendors




just grimaces rushing by to be encased by steel skyscrapers

not looking up from their sale papers

why do they still call it market street?

© michele mitchell, 2013

Prompt: http://www.writersdigest.com/whats-new/wednesday-poetry-prompts-245

Photo Credit: www.metro.com


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