The Things, the World Poetry Collection

Floating Market

The canoe creaked
like an old broken shack
at its final hours.
The streets chattered
like a crowded mall
of money crazed shoppers.    
The paddles churned
in the quiet waters of the river.
A river that conducted small waves
To rock boats up and down.
A woman anchored her canoe close by
and sliced a grey melon
like it was a sacrifice to the Gods.
Pieces of the cantaloupe
bleach of orange
were handed to each of us,
it was delicate and delicious.
We sprinkled the coins
onto the women's charred hands
for an exchange for three melons
and began oaring once more.
We passed by canoes
stocked with fruits and healthy veggies,
some with two-foot bamboo sticks
that a chubby panda could devour in seconds.
As evening struck, we docked
like a cruise ship returning
from a long and adventurous trip.
Stalls overthrew a whole section of pavement
like a tennis court.
An elderly man
played his drums and sang a lullaby.
Our sound waves were tampered lightly by his play.