The Fishmonger’s Ensemble

From the horror of Walmart

to the wonder of the fishmonger.

Just like that, everything can change

if someone can shoot some sparks.

I want a pound of smoked salmon

from the Charleston seafood shop.

I stand at the counter.

The fishmonger hands me the package and rings it up.

She wears:

bangles and spangles.

green stocking cap,

high waist, faded jeans,

long-sleeve white t-shirt

with a logo of a Chinese restaurant.

A recent thrift store find

in San Francisco

she tells me.

Who is this fishmonger?

What is this ensemble?

What is the word for it?

Style!

What is the word for hers?

Groovy.

Can anything be groovy in America these days?

I stare at the answer.

It’s smiling through the sweet lines of maturity

of someone who predates the Age of the Internet.

I tip for the ensemble,

tip for the sparks,

tip for the sweet lines,

walk outside.

The lyrics hit. I’m singing and not making a sound.

Slow down, you move to fast,

gotta make the morning last now, kickin’ down the cobblestones

and feeling groovy.