orchard

At The Farmer’s Market
by Tom Lagasse

Before the sun rises, they answer their call
to duty, like soldiers and monastics, while most
of their customers remain comfortably ensconced
in the cocoon of dream. Intertwined in a lovers’

relationship, the farmers reap the fruits of the earth,
of their labor they have husbanded from seed. They
tuck their produce into beds of pickup trucks and trailers.
One by one they arrive at the green or an empty church

Parking lot to create a market, ancient as society, where
they assemble their canvas tent village and folding tables.
With a retailer’s eye, they display week’s cornucopia: ears
of corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions . . . The aroma

Of humus and exhaustion permeates the air. With their cracked,
calloused hands and fingernails semi-clean,,they wear
their Saturday best. Here the community is fed, and the cost
of exchanging love for money is rooted in hunger.

PHOTO: Staff from Tonn’s Orchard, Burlington, Connecticut.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I wrote this with a specific farmer in mind, but it speaks to farmers in general. Without farmers feed ing us, we cannot have a society and all the trappings.

lagasse

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Tom Lagasse’s poetry has appeared in Freshwater Literary Review, Word Mill Magazine, The Monterey Poetry Review, Wine Drunk Sidewalk,   iamnotasilentpoet.com, Wax Poetry & Art, and Plum Tree Tavern, along with a half dozen anthologies. He lives in Bristol, Connecticut.