Texas sun shines and,

the black walnut trees shade the plaza where

microcosms

eat and shop in leisure

My sun-bleached hat covers my brow,

traveled north and south,

west and east, absorbs the Texas sun in

bands of sweat.

Hands hold each other crossing the street,

clasping palms to melodies of latin beats.

Try this. Eat this. Hold this. Look at this.

say the microcosms

as they shop in leisure.

Today, I look for the spice man. He stays home.

I hear my name. No one says it.

Is that her hair? She would have liked this.

She would have stopped to pet that, sample this, gasp at these.

I remember

her laugh

the dogs she’d pet

the over zealous search for spirit gear.

My dusted red squared shirt covers my fear,

draping off my sore body loosely like a king’s cape.

Sunglasses keep my wet eyes invisible by the microcosms.

the familiar sight of produce and working kin refocus my sight.

I look for another spice man.