The Greatest Things

It was warm on Sunday
so, we filled the car and
drove up to the Ballard market

Where children and dogs

examined each other
 and
stumbled through the knees

of adults who, in such weather
seemed to share
that same sense of excitement, too

There was music from
the homeless and youth.
All those goddamn hipsters!
but,
as things are,
how can we really blame them?
for hammering at their guitar strings
with harmonicas hanging
around their necks

Around endless tables of late winter greens

wooden racks, bending with loaves of bread
left to cool out in the open air

And the meat—the butchers themselves!

hauling coolers of goat and beef

plates of terrine, clouded jellies 

boar cheeks and kidneys 



An entire pork’s head had been set on the table 

tongue hanging out to the side

and I remember thinking
how he looked happily unaware
of his circumstance
and that,
I understood