It was one of those days when dogs were barking at each other. I was buying a pineapple and the talk which comes with waiting: the grandmother's predicament about her two
with the same father, different mothers while trimming
the crown,
one fondly called me kuya, the other decoding things
in a pink calculator, and the wind breezes through the stall, midday, and the kids
were just making sense of the simplicities an object has, while
the pineapple is cored, and the grandmother wonders why
its eyes cannot be carved out in perfect
diagonal slits, "not like the other ones"

so each pineapple was different, I'm fine with that
but I left with discomfort, and she with her expectations.