the sunday flea market

at most unholy hour does start, before the sun's beck may,
when yet still warmth lies between sweet linen and fluffed duvet;
a combi van that arrives first, then others with the dawn,
when students are but 'bout to sleep, the pedlars bid good 'morn.

the shabby tables set in haste - stability is key,
for items set in their own place, though done so randomly;
a joy-filled laugh, a hearty beck, some banter filled with mirth,
the day-long hawkers hope to sell for more than their wares' worth.
tho whom, you'd think? since no one's there - ah, you're mistaken, friend,
some treasure-hunting early birds, some stay here 'til the end!
i must say that it's quite a sight, that attracts curious stares,
how simple such a parking lot now serves for selling wares!

the first to set up shop, a man whose glazed stare sings lacked sleep,
with curious 'sortment of fur rugs, of cow, of lamb, of sheep;
what's this, i see? is that fox fur? and not at all too old,
alas, i have no use or space for one that smells of mold.

next up a jolly, red-cheeked ma'am whose seen past better days,
but you can tell she was a pretty lass - in many ways;
she said she ran off to the countryside with her one heart,
a young couple after the war who wanted a new start;
their story is a ageless one, that i'd recant elsewhere,
but what, indeed, has she to sell, this lady old and fair?
they set up a small apiary - and tended honeybees,
now here she is, to sell that sweet nectar to you and mes!
i bought a jar, of blue gum just to give it a fair try,
and we'll find out soon if it was worth an arm and an eye.

so wandered i between the sparse but cacophonous crowd,
until i saw a hippie stall with shirts that were too loud;
amongst the paraphernalia sold (some dodgy in their means),
an antique watch i sought much like jack and his magic beans;
'how much, good sir' i asked, 'would you part with this pocket watch?'
i did not forget to point out the scratches and a notch,
but for my woe! it wasn't meant to be my purchase, nay,
for said watch did not work at all, oh well, another day,
may come when i will finally get a chained watch of my own,
but until then this longing should let simmer and have grown.

a coffee stall, that smelled too good, an indulgence i've spared,
a fridge of rare and sought ice-creams i've not seen to have cared,
(but that being said, ben & jerry's has been my nicotine),
and häagen-dazs reminds me of my time as an old teen.
some pots and pans, my mother would appreciate these things,
the chinaware and tupperware and cutlery for kings.

and then, surprise! a stall of meats, of nearly every type,
at least as much as sunday markets hold up to their hype;
a german with a manly beard, and tattoos up his arm,
he told me he did shady things, some which would bring him harm…
i laughed it off and told him that was no business of mine,
but instead i'd like to ask him of his wares had he time,
he said he'd prefer to chat over a stout froth'd beer,
again i laughed, and he agreed, "since there is no one here".
he told me in great depth of all the sausages and meat,
he hung above his head all ready to cook and eat,
and in the while he told me of his troubled history,
of how he came to end up here from homeland germany.
his different frankfurters were great, his humour greater still,
he produced his own stash of cheese and beckoned me with will;
i declined as i had no heart to take from one so kind,
especially when cheese, wine, meat! that's more than i can mind.
we parted soon, too soon, in fact, with uproar and outburst,
while making jokes (i'd share my pun, but that would be the wurst).

a few more stalls, of books and toys and uninteresting things,
i thought my time was at its end of browsing these wingdings.
but cut me short! there's one thing i cannot resist just yet,
a turkish man selling his food (i recall he was fat);
it smelled just one shy short of being made by the divine,
though i admit my hunger pangs were growling at the time.
a chocolate doughnut to fill my gut, and smaller ones for soon,
a story quite unique itself to fill the afternoon;
he said he was from ankara, and this piqued me curious,
and left as his government had made him so furious,
went to london and opened shop selling doughnuts and drinks,
then came down under for a change and searched for life hijinks!
he settled down and bought some pans (from malaysia no less),
and decided he'd live a life here, one that's free of stress,
which brings us to this sale today; his doughnuts (now they're mine),
think i'll stop by the sunday market quite soon in future's time.