Her vegetable vendor

Her vegetable vendor, ‘a nice man’, Who she can spot from a long waiting mile, Known for his ever-welcoming broad smile That says, it pays to please, pamper a fan. He comes, begin the bids, rounds of bargains, That done, returned are tomatoes too ripe, Brinjals less brown and onions not her type, He lets her feel: she’s right and always gains. Ready he’s to exchange whatso any, What she likes seldom is his facile grace, Though hawk-like, never his unhurried pace, She hardly perhaps sees his rehearsed glee. Rather his sweet and soft words, ready smile That seemingly— not in truth— lets her win, He withholds well his demeanour so mean, A chameleon as camouflage its guile. I suspect, he makes good each bargained price With weights that would weigh never once so well, He puts forward his charming outer shell, She overlooks or else his loaded dice. From distance, this is what I tend to guess: The stance of his and well-rehearsed innings That lasts all day long on his able wings, Truth might be behind his win-win success. _________________________________________ Tongue-in-cheek | 02.05.2012 | narrative