He’s at the corner of Kas Market on a Friday
selling sweetness and aggression,
juice and nails, snacks and work.
In our year 4 play at school I was cast
as one of three wine makers. An enthusiastic
teacher painted our feet and ankles purple
and we marched them up and down like hammers
on stage. Parents laughed at our fumbled
French accents as we sang a song about vineyards
we’d rehearsed for months. Back at Kas Market
the grapes of the stall owners eyes hang softly
in a face of hammers, his fingers exhausted
from an early morning of setting up his table,
organising his wares, writing his sign
in perfect English.

© Carl Burkitt 2023