She darts through the market
her voice carries like a paperjet
Her thoughts are subdivided
between the bakery
and a monologue of stares
She hears the language of butchers
calling legs of lamb
like racing commentators
With a watermelon under her arm
she talks sport to anybody
who will listen
Loads her pram with fish
bread
meat
Then elbows her way
through crowds
like a league veteran
against the skyline
the late afternoon sun
is deflating
like a hot air balloon
the jetty has been cast out
a fishing line
the fish are playing
hide and seek
a boy jumps off a pylon
the ocean wobbles
ever so slightly
like a jellyfish