Promises of a good morning with rich coffee The Bridge is a beast Carnival colored tents of every shape and size That special tiny painting of a girl in a silly hat The DIY is strong in this place I walk to the bay and hum to the skyline But those crimson crushed velvet Mary Jane’s with satin ribbons The fog is slowly lifting I feel it whispering to me “two hours west” Promises of a good morning with rich coffee The Bay beckons to grand adventure at The Treasure Island Flea. Anticipation and glee fuel my drive through the valleys and passes Wind…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":79,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[857,46],"class_list":["post-7471","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","tag-3-of-5","tag-hour-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7471","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/79"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7471"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7471\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15259,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7471\/revisions\/15259"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7471"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7471"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7471"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nThe Bay beckons to grand adventure
\nat The Treasure Island Flea<\/a>.
\nAnticipation and glee fuel my drive through the valleys and passes
\nWind farms and wildflower fields with loud proud poppies.<\/p>\n
\nbut the sight of water, cools my travel weary eyes.
\nIt smells of secrets and such
\nwafting over and under cold metal structures.<\/p>\n
\nDemand my attention as I arrive
\nWhere do I start?
\nWhat to do I touch?
\nFancy food trucks with festive feasts
\nMusty dusty boxes full of scarves and laces and blouses with broken beads<\/p>\n
\nI couldn’t possibly go home without that.<\/p>\n
\nPapier-m\u00e2ch\u00e9 pigeon perched atop petrified bacon branches
\nYou are not speaking to me<\/p>\n
\nI always find the real treasure on this Island
\nThe view<\/p>\n
\nhad stories to tell of mad dancing days.
\nThey need a new home.
\n“Be honest,” I ask the vendor, “Did your great, great grandmother really wear these?
\nI’ll take them.<\/p>\n![\"Artist](\"http:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/orig.jpg\")
<\/a>