Sunday came in a flash
Like a whispered inuendo on sensitive ears
With nothing to do but contemplate
I strolled down to the market
Where the Chinese vegetable sellers
Sell unfamiliar fruit
And the corn husks lay
In the alley rotting
It was the first Sunday of Spring
Hotter than usual when the sun
Made its way out of the clouds
Colder than usual when the wind
Blew more cloud in front of it.
I felt out of sorts
Like some early century missionary
I wanted to tell them all
To slow down and stop shouting
And then suddenly I was standing in front
Of the cashier with my fruit
I had picked up surrealistically
And without knowing I had paid
And was walking home in the rain.
