The Fortune

In the too much bright of noon,
I pocketed the best of myself
like so many beads polished smooth
to be strung and packed away.

I walked from shop to shop—
the butcher with his thick smell of meat,
the fish monger's hands of silver scales.
I smiled when no one saw.

The baker tempted me with warm rolls,
then folded his floured arms
around a woman from Saint Martin
while I paid dearly for my bread.

When the steeple chimes pealed,
I shared a plate of cheese and sausage
with myself, my precious gems
still safe at the bottom of the chest.