Down at the Flea Market
by Tom King
Living the raggedy life on the raggedy edge,
Retail for the most part is out of my range,
So, for much of my life, the flea market's been
My JC Penny's, my Sears. Goods for small change.
Fat folk in spandex, old men in saggy jeans.
Jammed cheek by jowl, shirttails hanging out,
Examine the piles of other people's unwanted stuff,
Treasures spotted on the day's aimless walkabout.
Stuff the sellers lay out, things no longer wanted.
Stuff to sell to me, much I didn't know I'd need.
And got to have at prices I can haggle down,
Toys I've forgotten, books I really have to read.
Someone inevitably asks, "What'd you need that for?"
I'm not sure, but I've never yet willingly parted
With something I found among the market fleas,
Everything just seems to be a project someday started.
Perhaps because I found it cheap and unexpected,
It feels like some kind of discovered treasure
And it's true I haven't got round to using them, yet.
But someday, they'll give me just a little pleasure.
...at the great deal I got.
© 2022 by Tom King
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