The Fruit Stand
by Dinel Peiris, Lysterfield Lake College
Years 5 – 6 Performance Poetry Finalist
The rocks crumble and crush under me,
Just like any other day
As they scuttle away from my shoes,
Like small insects on holiday.
In my small neighbourhood
Still, I do, I head for school.
The sweet fresh aroma of the deep-dish stand,
Making me mourn as I pass its land.
As it pulls me forward,
Yet I through and by,
If the morning bell rings,
Or at home I will lie.
Though I turn pass the street,
I see lemons, oranges, apples and lime.
Though I long for the treats,
Once a year, one day at a time.
As I sit at my seat next to the lake,
I look my peers; I am only awake.
The window, the window
My only escape
The poor lecture comes back and drones.
Past my ears only history tells.
I look to where the fruit stand lies,
The faint mumble of people repeating:
“Come by, come by”
The window fogs my view a bit,
But I manage to find crack.
One holding a basket smiles,
One bearing a plate,
One lifting a water jug and cups,
Sits down for a break.
The last day has come,
The fruit low in the basket take.
That day after school
I move fast toward the stand
I stick my hand
In my leather money bag
And I count the coins within my hand,
And wonder what my choice should be.
Before the moving market stand leaves.
I give my cash; they give to me.
The sweet taste fruit is ours to share,
I bite, and what I’ve been dreaming of,
Fills the air, it fills the air.
The dust, it passes through my face,
Because I was nearly late,
For the fruit, they might have left me behind.
Me and you and everyone else saying:
“Come by, come by.