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Fruit Stand

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A wooden shanty

on the P-C-H,

filled with colors and smells

draws the fickle tourist in

with striped green and scruffy brown.

 

A single man and his two mutts

guard the tropical load.

He sells,

and sells,

and sells,

and sells

until the dark explodes.

**********

A trail of sandy footsteps

lead the way to

Home.

The End
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THE GOODS

SilverEye You're currently reading a chapter in the poem Costa Rica poems. This chapter was posted on Apr 3, 2010 by SilverEye.

This is a solo poem.

About this poem

"A poem from my Easter vacation trip to Costa Rica."

Some rights reserved.

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