Morro Bay Market


Brown arms and white chest

Thoughts fleeting like footsteps in the sand


MorroBayin fall

Red leaf dusk streets

White topped rock

Cawing harbour evening


Sitting staring out to sea

Pacific blowing salt inland

Waves rising mightily

And crashing deafeningly

Again and again

And again

Jellyfish washed up

Sharks prowling under piers

Dolphins bouncing around

If you can see it all.

I can’t.


Trading strawberries for grapes

And two peaches

At the market

OnMain Street,

Looking down at the masts

And hulls and eating pecans

And blueberry granola.

So fucking sweet.


Sunset packing into 1952 Chevy

A pleasure for peaches

Picking for plums

Fruit give-away,

Gather ye round!

Two bucks for strawberries

Two bucks a pound for heirloom tomatoes

A buck a piece a bunch o’ beets

A buck pound o’ pumpkin

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Rodney Munch is a ghost. He died in a supermarket warehouse for minimum wage and has since scribbled poems that no one has read, on account of the prejudice of the living against ghosts.

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