December Farmer’s Market in Portland

Twenty-five degrees.
That’s -4 to everyone else.
And yet, unreasonably sunny.
Isn’t it supposed to rain here?
I wore jeans (I do own one pair).
Actually zipped my coat (Blue leather instead of shabby gold corduroy)
Surely, it’s not cold enough for scarf and gloves.
It’s only a few blocks. To jaywalk or not?
I watch the jaywalkers and second-guess my decisions.
Sign two petitions–global warming (against) and gay marriage (for)
A sample cup of hot cider makes my cold teeth hurt.
My bacon dealer is missing. Missing!
An empty space where their stand is always.
I walk one loop–no vegetables I need, just eggs.
The egg vendor gently scolds me for not bringing cartons
She talks me into bloomy cheese
And butter she churned herself yesterday.
I like to buy butter from her because
once, in the green of summer,
she let me feel her churning bicep.

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December Farmer’s Market in Portland