For their vine comes from the vine of Sodom and from the fields of Gomorrah; their grapes are grapes of poison; their clusters are bitter. — Deuteronomy 32:32

Mid-morning market
Banners, not yet tired,
burst splendor in the air
like grapes overflowing across tables
People balanced drinks in both hands,
vendors passed figs and lentils to
shoppers, others rested in Temple Square
listening to harps, drums, and rumbling carts
Children ran ahead of parents, teenagers flirted,
and something long sleeping in dogs
awakened in jasmine-chai air

It started to rain, and shrieks of delight
rose from shoppers as they ran for cover,
palms to God, laughing and praising His goodness

I dashed under a storefront portico
and watched passersby clamber
into carts or throw open tent flaps
which dropped behind them
The world was wet like a bathing suit

Some young men crowded
into the portico beside me, bringing scents of damp linen
and wine. I could tell they were
from Sodom by their accents and the ways
their beards glistened like where the Jordan bends
and the current changes

One man shouted to another friend
on the street to bring the cart. The men darted
out, heads ducked, laughing, spilling
their mugs of wine
One man lingered in the portico. He stepped toward me
and asked May I kiss you?

Yes

Two rain drops fell onto two rain drops

Then he leapt out of the portico
and jumped into the cart behind his friends
It sped into the splashing air. Tables
overflowed with grapes