January 28, 2008
-
Feira
The Supermarket
the cart wheels creak and refuse to turn
pick up your end and lift to cut corners
rice, beans, macaroni, crackers
outside the street lined with streamers
that blow with the saving wind
tarps rise and fail
in their attempts to give shade
i cannot inhale quickly enough
to capture the smells
cumin, cinnamon, mango, celantro
the heat bears down on my shoulders
while sweat gathers on the small of my back
the flies take their share
one Real of this
two Reis of that
by the while pile for five
pay the man with the wheelbarrow
to take it to the taxi
my feet stumble over the uneven cobblestones
i grab a hand
twiddle a thumb
and feel at homeMeat market
a corner of red flesh
hooks hanging and winding
the red and white swaying
some pieces still have black hair on them
the fat overrules
t-bone steak on a rack
waiting to be taken to an restaurant
served with silver silverware
right next to the potatoes and peas
but now it sits next to the intestines
and cow hooves
and large hunks
that still resemble the animal
it still seems too real
too alive
to eat yet. let it
be processed some more
until it is just another bite
to put in my mouth
and finish my plate
