.
The morning fog played at our feet
swirling softly, dulling voices
just like a mountain village street
Brisbane Markets shouting choices
.
“Bananas… Cav bananas here!”
but today his voice is swallowed
in padded walls of atmosphere
Low, heavy, carved out and hollowed
.
Then it lifted, it disappeared
Swiftly whisked by the waiting sun
like a silk table cloth is cleared
by the waiter’s hand on the run
.
The strains of change for every eye
if it paused, looking up to see
the vast blue wispy marbled sky
above the markets of Rocklea
.
