Among the pipes and pulleys, sacks and seeds,
there is a necklace made of crimson beads.
Great care was taken that it catch the eye
of plain-clad fernandinas passing by
the Sunday market stalls and sundry shops
where needs and wants diverge. A woman stops.
She holds the necklace to her collar, asks
the price, then gently puts it down and masks
her disappointment with a repartee ”
Demasiado lindo para mí.
Too nice. Yet, homeward-bound, she’ll look again
and hope no one has bought it.
Now and then,
a thing of beauty must be bargained for,
though all it graces is a dresser drawer.
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