The Farmer's Market

Lucky-looking people looked
At everything in the booths.
There weren't many booths to see.
Shorty observed from the truck
As the sun beat on his knee
Like drumming fingers.  How long,
He wondered, do I play dumb?

He didn't have to play long.
A woman with a bouquet
Was patrolling the margins
In white blouse and long red skirt
Around the lunette of shade,
Approaching the last blue booth.
Could mean anything at all,

Shorty thought as he listened
To the few words he could hear.
She might have already seen
Him trying not to get hurt.
She might know he could see her.
She didn't see the future.
That he knew. She came his way.