Poem: Market Rate

I love this poem, but it defies a short and snappy lead and you'll just have to read it, slowly, to see if you like it as well.

Market Rate I have no particular defining grace Just a slowly moving target, as unlike myself a moment ago as some stranger on the street, moving through this time and place Water pouring, wind blowing Ask me who I am, I’ll ask to know the time, the seconds ticking Not to worry, in the moment’s question I’ve become another Only knowing what I’ve been Bargaining for what I may become Yet bargains, once they’re made are often debts to pay at rates of interest far too high Transactions over which we haggle, negotiating who’s advantage sets the price when the note is due Markets, only vaguely understood, determine you and me A constant fluctuation, too much supply and sometimes no demand So my thoughts still flicker like a faulty tube, a loose connection This slowly moving target against a sea of  market change, looking for another grace as undefined and variable as mine, yet less shy, more market wise A better judge of capital and risk My eyes hold yours, but only for a moment, then they’re gone to another corner of the room, speculating at a greater distance A price beyond my current means to say hello, ask your name But, then again, I’m changing from the man who held your eyes You saw all there was to see, to know and then moved on

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.