Market day in Barcelona

I saw her in a market in Barcelona

One Friday morning

In the spring

And we know where a young man’s fancy

Lightly turns in that uncertain season.

She went on from stall to stall,

Laughing as she chatted with the sellers

Of tomatoes, fish and cucumbers.

She looked at me once, I thought,

But that was all.

I followed her as she shopped so happily,

Unobserved, as I imagined,

Or as I tried to be.

And then at the last stall of all

Her bag fell from her hand

Somehow, I don’t know how,

For the handle seemed secure.

But it fell, and fruit and veg

Went everywhere.

Two big onions ran away

As if they had decided to play

Behind the wheel of a car parked up nearby.

I rushed to retrieve the errant grapes

And oranges rolling like tennis balls

And at least a kilo

Of potatoes that were hiding in various places.

Then I looked her in the eye

And insisted on carrying her wayward bag

Round the market for the rest of the way.

After forty years I carry it still

As we go to the market on Fridays,

And she laughs as she stops and chats at every stall.

Poem every Monday