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#62

17 Jun

“Help me harvest my garden,” you request.                            (published Ship of Fools, 1995)
And so I, city boy,
come to the country
to see what you grow.
But you show me only
steel artichokes (hearts
I can not touch)
and the empty places
already harvested.
You say storms
ruined the crops
and damaged the soil.
Tired of walking around
barbed wire fences
I ask what I can help harvest.
Startled,
you smell the air
and say you feel another storm approaching
and leave to take cover.
I stand in the rain
and watch your artichokes rust.

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2013 in previously published

 

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