Open Air Market on the First Day of Spring

When the sun comes out
So do we, Portlanders

Like flannel bedecked bears
We hibernated beneath naked trees lining streets mushy with leaves, mud, rain

Emerging now, shorn, with jeans hugging legs
And the sun painting its glisten upon us

To the open air west side market with our suddenly sexy lady
No longer hiding natural blonde curls beneath a Cotton hat
No longer hiding perfect breasts and perfect flesh beneath argyle and shapeless cotton

Pale legs breathing daylight finally

Soft hands holding rough we both pierced and ink stained
Walk past pink and white cherry blossoms, shedding
Buds gently in the clever breeze

The market

Where we learn of the benefits of homemade soaps, of crystal gazing, of all natural
MSG free food seasonings
Where we remind ourselves why we endure nine months of rain and gloom
And reacquaint ourselves with the Aroma of patchouli
And naturally lacquered pine carved and nailed into birdhouses
And signs welcoming visitors

Past the djembe surrounded by hacky sacks
Past orange robed Hire Krishnas passing out free hard backed books
Past the churro vendor's deep fried temptations
Past the stained glass artisans, to the cubic zirconias-just as pretty
And less messy than diamonds-where we try on sterling rings

Past dogs and their strained smiled caretakers
And we pretend that we're not cooler than they are, but we know

We're cooler than everyone

Our tattoos, our funky hairdos
The obscure bands on our t shirts
The way we walk, proves this

All this is processed and consumed
As we wait in line for gyros

We scoff at the Budweiser and drink our micro

We eat and drink in wrought iron chairs, baking in the sun
Sprayed by fountains of cold recycled water
We gaze Past to the Willamette
The tug boats
The kayaks to the east side