Market Place

The market place

Is a muddy street

After it rains

And the blood of the pigs

Seeps in the pools

First the fish in baskets

And the flies buzzing about

And the meat hung on hooks

The butchers look like tough young thugs

With their long, sharp bladed knives

Then the spices, eggs and tofu

And then the dried noodles and fresh vegetables

And at the end, the Chicken lady

To slaughter a fresh rooster

We bargain for our daily fare

Five jin of pork

Three jin of eggs

A jin of dried tofu

Some Chinese cabbage

Some long green beans

And a bunch of garlic stalks

A tractor with a man and woman

Makes its way noisily through the crowded street

A man on a bicycle is scolded by an old woman

An old beggar man comes by

Playing a Chinese fiddle with only one string

The vegetable lady gives him a potato

He puts into his pouch

The egg lady scolds him

And then gives him a couple small eggs.

The Chicken ladies comes down to meet us

To ask if we want one slaughtered

My wife cannot bear to have one killed

Everyday the game is the same

The poor peddlers sit and wait

With their bare wares