Rummage Sale

A different poem for me...

Rummage Sale

A single sunbeam illuminated
the highlighter yellow sign as
the moon gave birth to the sun and
day was born again. The atmosphere is
crisp as an early morning hunt, cars
full of bargain hunters lined up like
field hunters carrying
huntsmen and whippers-in. Eagerly
they follow from one crudely drawn
arrow to the next and then the next, ardent
as hounds on a fox trail. The Master
sees the benefits of his
clever advertisement driving
‘round the bend and mentally
hikes up his prices two fold. And with no
trumpeting blare the hunt has begun. Like
cornering a fox hole they strove
to smoke out their prey: tattered
books by favorite authors, novelty
mugs from distant places, second hand
alligator shoes. Once the prey is
captured, they move in for
the kill. And deftly do they slash and hack
whatever price that they are asked and
leave paying a half of half of that.
Not yet sated, the trackers then turn
to the next trail of arrows disappearing
into the golden morning mist