Flip

I know I should hurry

But hurrying, on these impossibly vibrant walkways disguised as streets, is a challenge.

And so, I somewhat oxymoronically hurriedly meander my way back to school. The narrow lane is all life and produce. Melons, greens, fresh fruit all vie for the eye. Butcher shops with fresh cuts, shopkeepers squatting and ready to serve.

Colours everywhere, perfectly arrayed, placed just so, for sale.

I round the last bend, squeezing past the badly out of context SUV, all width and annoyance

When something, amongst the colour, catches my eye. 

Flip

Flop

And then I spy the slender woman, blue coat and sandals, white gallon bucket in tow

She’s lost something

And it’s flipping and flopping

A silver street politician

Is that a chicken?

It’s doing its best to make a getaway, dead (live?) centered in the road. It somehow, against all odds, flies a couple feet into the air, finally emerging more clearly into view. All silver scales and flash.

This flapper is making a last gasp dash for freedom.

I imagine it an escapee, freed at last from its confines, roaring twenties calling it home.

Making a break to Tay Ho

The lake in the west

And it’s like I can hear its voice

I’m the king of the road! See ya later, suckas! I’m outta here! Wooooooooooooooooooo!

But my finner dialogue is interrupted.

She has other ideas.

With skill belying her frame, this tiny monger is ahead of the game. 

A lightning-quick squat, feint to the right, and a deft scoop of the bucket

This fella is bagged

Not bagged, bucketed

Back to the brig.

She laughs and smiles at me as I saunter by, the brightest glint in her eye.

Something tells me she’s done this before.